Vitale's calls for three days. For a man accustomed to immediate obedience, this silence gnawed at him more viciously than any rival's bullet.

Perhaps because deep down

mano family, Vitale's greatest rival - had been in love with Elena De Luca since their university days in Rome. She was the one woman who had ever told h

ed to lose. Not to anyone. Espec

sed once in Florence beneath a bridge soaked in golden lamplight. But she had drawn a line - and walked away. Matteo had respected her for it, but he had

essed his identity, the world tilted. Logic screamed at her to run, but her heart, traitorous and wild, clung to the memory of his eyes in the garden, the way he spoke of poetry as if it

s what made hi

erto De Luca, had alr

in the kitchen. "They don't love the way we do. They

nore how his daughter's face softe

at her door. She expected a fl

aid, startled.

coat still dripping from the misty evening.

"You came to

ninvited. "I came to remi

er arms. "And

o once told me she wanted to change the world

deep enough to draw b

That man's soul is soaked in blood. You can'

Romano. Your family runs guns and laun

I'm not pretending with you, either. I still care about

urs to save

. "Maybe not. But I still remember what it felt like when you be

er phone buzzed. One name

s jaw c

he muttered,

idn't s

d at the phone. She d