Page 143 of Forsaking All Others

The only real question was, Who was powerful enough to promise her a higher position than the right-hand man of the Chicago Outfit?

I didn’t recognize any of the other bodies in the church, except for one who had been a soldier during my father’s time years ago. I couldn’t remember what had happened to him exactly, but I thought he’d gone to the Cosa Nostra outfit in Vegas.

Hank recognized two, kill-for-hires that were on The Fallen MC’s radar.

Alessia was the only one still alive.

When Cesare arrived, he took one look at Alessia and blanched, a slight wobble in his hand as it fisted against his mouth and the obvious urge to vomit.

“I am sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t.

He looked at me as if he was seeing through me but nodded.

“If it’s too difficult for you to go through her things, I’ll send Ciro,” I offered and watched him flinch.

He swallowed thickly. “I’ll do it.”

I studied him and then stepped closer to clamp a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’ve always been Dario’s man, not mine, but I want it clear that your loyalty isn’t in question. Hers? It should have been from the start. How many mafiosos has she been through over the years?”

Cesare closed his eyes as if he was in pain but nodded.

“Did she ever ask you invasive questions?” I pushed.

He shrugged. “Sure, over pillow talk. I never said much. I’m a fucking made man, and she knew it.”

I hummed, because I believed him, but obviously Alessia had been getting inside information somewhere.

“Arrange to get her back to the house and have the doctor look at her after he’s finished with Dario,” I instructed. “Don’t let her die before I get a chance to talk to her.”

Cesare’s lips thinned, but he nodded. “Will do, Boss.”

“Good man,” I said, as comforting as I knew how to be, before I turned my back on the mess and walked out the front doors to speak to Hank, who was waiting for me in the shadows.

He watched me warily as I approached. He didn’t like me, but he would die for my wife, and that meant everything.

His gray-streaked eyebrows cut into his forehead when I offered my hand to him.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely as he slowly took my hand. “For watching Fia’s back.”

His mouth pressed down in a curious expression as he peered through the shadows at me. “You know, she doesn’t need much protectin’, that one. Prefers to be in on the action. Between her friends and that dog, she’s never been left swingin’ in the wind.”

“Obviously,” I noted dryly. “You want to tell me what she gets up to when she claims she’s at her graphic designer business and isn’t?”

It was obvious, based on her intel and reaction tonight, that Fia was as much a website designer as I was a fucking gardener.

Hank’s grin was wide and wicked. He mimed zipping it closed and throwing away the key.

“She’s my girl,” he said by way of explanation.

And even though it bothered the fuck out of me to hear him refer to her in the possessive, I was also glad she had that.

Especially considering my own damn Outfit wasn’t safe for her.

“She’s my wife,” I said mildly. “Whatever you think you’d do for her, there is no sacrifice I wouldn’t make with a fucking smile on my face.”

His mouth flattened as he squinted at me. “Sure. But you should know, sacrifice can be easy. It’s sticking around to fight for the long haul that’s the real bitch.”

Without another word, he turned on his boot and strolled away, whistling with his hands in his pockets.