Page 77 of Forsaking All Others

“Does this mean you don’t want the keys?” Stefan suggested playfully, dangling the fob from his fingers.

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth and snatched the key. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He beamed. “I won rock paper scissors, so I’ll ride shotgun with you today.”

“I’ll follow on a bike,” Luigi explained, nodding to the Kawasaki motorcycle parked behind the Lambo at the curb.

I didn’t argue the present any further, but as I got into the low-slung vehicle and started the purring engine, I wondered what the fuck had happened yesterday to make Dario turn over some kind of new leaf after six years of sameness.

I was still pondering it when I walked into my office, my red wig and my testa di Moro mask, an elaborate Sicilian face covering I always wore as the Oracle, fixed in place. It was dramatic and, Renata had informed me more than once, over the top, but half my reputation came from the theatricality of my performance, and the disguise certainly drummed up word of mouth in the right underground Chicago circles.

I was convinced half my early bookings came out of pure curiosity.

Still, it was hot and heavy on my face as I passed through the entryway of our offices and nodded at Alessia, who worked the front desk for me, before I crossed into my private office.

I wasn’t alone for long.

“What the hell happened last night?” she asked me before the door was even closed.

I sighed as I took off the headpiece and placed it carefully on the stand on my marble desk. Wearing the mask to and from the office was perhaps a smidge too far in concealing my identity, but my career would be absolutely finished if people knew I was the wife of the capo dei capi of the Chicago Cosa Nostra. Luigi, Stefan, and I always parked in the underground of the other office I kept as a front for my graphic design company, a business I owned that essentially ran without me, and then took one of Chicago’s underground tunnels to this office.

Besides keeping my identity confidential, it always paid to be prudent when the work I did put me in the crosshairs of some of the city’s and country’s most dangerous people.

“What did Cesare tell you?” I asked Alessia as she handed over my second coffee of the day. It was an addiction I would never give up, and the bitter Italian espresso we imported was like nectar on my tongue.

“Well, obviously something went down with Dario, because it seemed like mass panic in the ranks. I’ve never seen Cesare so upset. And then, this morning, after working through the night, he comes home looking sick to his stomach with relief. I guess Dario is home safe and sound?” She paused, eyeing my neck with glittering eyes. “Based on the shadow of a hickey I see under the makeup on your throat, I think I can confirm he is.”

I fought the blush creeping into my cheeks but doubted my success when my best friend only laughed with delight and plopped down in one of the brown leather chairs across from me.

“I just do not get you guys,” she confessed. “One second you act like you hate each other, the other like you’re nothing but polite business acquaintances, and the next like you’re feral animals ripping off each other’s clothes.”

I winced at the memory of Alessia walking in on Dario fucking me in the coatroom of a Christmas party last year. A few of the men had been flirting with me all night long, harmlessly because I was wearing my wedding rings and they knew I was married to Dario, but not that he was a cold-blooded, murdering mafioso, when I’d felt my husband at my back. Before I could say a word, he’d excused me rudely from the group and hauled me into the walk-in closet, stuffing someone’s Hermes silk scarf into my mouth as he rucked up the skirt of my dress and started to play with my pussy.

I loved when he was territorial, so much so that it eradicated all the confused and hateful feelings I usually had toward him.

“I thought he’d been kidnapped,” I admitted, my voice soft with something like tenderness I wasn’t able to hide. “Cesare was in a panic like you said, there was security crawling through our house, and Lando and Carla were both there holding vigil. Have you heard from Finn this morning?”

She frowned, checking her phone quickly. “Yeah, he scheduled a meeting with you after lunch. Why?”

I stared down at my hands, imagining the red of Dario’s blood staining my fingers and the feel of his severed ear in my palm. “Someone sent me what I thought was Dario’s ear in a box of tissue like some kind of demented present.”

“Jesus,” she whispered. “But he’s okay?”

I nodded, even though part of me wasn’t convinced. I’d touched his intact appendage myself, looked into those unique frostbitten eyes, and known he was my husband. But I couldn’t shake this idea that something was wrong with this entire situation.

Who would send me a fake threat like that, knowing Dario would just return home to disprove it in short order?

Why make that kind of play?

“We sent the ear to a private lab Finn recommended. Can you see how long it will take them to process and pay whatever fee we have to in order to expedite the process?”

“You think something fishy is going on?” Alessia asked, brows raised. She looked like an Italian Barbie doll, but my girl was smart and had worked with me long enough to know when something was troubling me.

I pursed my lips and nodded. “It’s just too strange to believe.”

“Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction,” she reminded me. “Especially in the life of the Cosa Nostra.”

It was impossible to argue that, but still . . . “Carla seemed convinced last night that Dario was probably fine, but Lando was already acting like the de facto man in charge again. I think both reactions are unusual for parents worried about their child being missing.”