Page 123 of Venomous Throne

“Isabella.” Jaxon tucked his weapon into the waist of his pants and moved toward me.

I held up my hands. “Get away from me.”

Penelope was at my side a moment later. “I think you should go, Mr. Jaxon.”

He kept advancing.

The dog slid between us and growled viciously at the killer, daring him to continue.

“My wife asked you to leave.” Mancini continued to point his gun. “And what my wife wants, she gets.”

“Isabella.” Jaxon didn’t heed the threats around him.

I turned.

And ran.

Chapter 45 – Isabella

There were no gunshots that afternoon, so I could only assume Jaxon walked away with his life. In the days that passed, I refused to ask. The fact that I missed Jaxon terribly was another weight pressing against my already suffocating chest.

I wanted to talk, and I knew he was out there.

But I couldn’t find him.

“Good morning!” Penelope sang out.

Santa Caterina, morning people were the worst. Their cheery, chipper attitude should be illegal.

I stifled a groan and took the cup of coffee from my plate. “Hi.”

Penelope cocked her head. “What time did you get in last night? I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s because I just got back,” I yawned.

“Ooohh,” she hummed with a frown. “Then do you want a real glass of Joe? Those teeny espressos do nothing compared to real coffee.”

This woman forgot that I was raised in an Italian household. We didn’t drink Folgers in a 32-ounce mug.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to be going. I only came back for a shower and change of clothes,” I said with another yawn.

“Burning the candle at both ends isn’t a great idea,” Penelope offered kindly.

She didn’t realize how easy she had it. Mancini’s empire was well established when she came on the scene. Mine was in shambles. My men hid in the ghetto, too scared to walk about at night. And the day—no. Any hour could be the last of the Moretti Famiglia.

While Mancini had taken a meeting with Bonetti, it was to test the waters and to discover where I’d disappeared to. Don Mancini wasn’t interested in our internal struggles. They weren’t good for his business.

His wife was another story. Her heart beat for justice. Penelope was bound and determined to help me.

Which was why I was still a guest at their house.

While my men squatted in abandoned houses filled with mold, no electricity, and ate from takeout containers.

I tried to stay with them. But they, as one, insisted I remain here. To negotiate an alliance with the Mancini Famiglia.

So that was what I did.

I spent every hour working. My sleep was filled with nightmares, anyway.