ella

gray drizzle drifted in through the open archways, leaving greasy, iridescent puddles across the asphalt. Through the exit,

datory purr in the gloom. I was halfway to the do

bell

of barely contained fury. Rocco trailed a step behind him,

at his Underboss, his e

text message sent to Giuliana... it's a ghost, Boss. It was routed through multi

k a menacing step toward me. "You used Falcone resources," he accused, his voice

he was looking at 'K', the very ghost his men were chasing. "I'm just a discarded wife, Damien. I

ith a dangerous, volatile storm. He was a Don used to ab

omplex-his desperate need to control and protect-flared to life. He stripped off his custom, five-tho

g back as if his to

silk-blend fabric slipped from his grasp, falling with a wet,

alth and authority soaking up the grime of the garage floor. When he loo

to buy back the control he had just lost. "I'll add a

unadulterated disgust. "I d

but he slammed his hand aga

his mouth. "Don Carlo. He wants us both at the family estate tonig

the Moretti legacy. To defy him was a

he command in his voice bleeding into a desperat

rman's dinner was the absolute epicenter o

o a deadly whisper. "But don't expect me to perform the role of a doting wife, Damien. And don't expe

ad just handed him a live grenade, a

ordered, pulling the door open and forcing

my driver pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Damien Moretti was left standing alo