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I frowned. “And why is that?”
“Una managed to get hold of Sasha. He wouldn’t tell her much, but he said his employer had zero information on your location. He bugged O’Hara’s phone and knew he had a meeting there.”
I dragged a hand over my face, my own agitation ramping up tenfold.
No rat. It was salt in a very raw wound. A wound that opened and wept every time I walked into a room and Emilia left. Each time she refused to even look at me. It didn’t matter what I said or did. I sent her flowers, gifts, made food and left it outside her door. I apologized—it was as though I now didn’t exist in her eyes. I could withstand her anger, her defiance, but her indifference was much harder to weather.
I’d tried not to replay the look on her face that night, the hurt and fear for her brother. I tried even harder to push away that fucking resignation, the acceptance when she pulled that knife to her throat. It was the same look she’d worn when Sergio’s capo had had her on her knees in that motel room with a gun to her head. And finally, the indifference, as though I were just like every other man in her life who had let her down.
I should have been one hundred percent focused on the mob, on Sergio Donato… Instead, I just replayed those looks over and over. And now I find out I never had any reason to suspect her. I was destroying everything I touched.
“Great.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nero snapped. “You fucked up. It happens. We deal with it.”
“No, Sasha fucked everything up! I had it handled. Una—”
“Careful, Gio,” Nero warned. His fists were balled on the desk in front of him, knuckles washing white.
Jackson gripped my arm, and from the corner of my eye, he shook his head. “Look, no one fucked up. But we should fuck up the entire Outfit and present Sergio Donato’s head to the Irish as an ugly-ass olive branch. Job done.”
“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” I threw my hands up, then glared at him. “Because we can’t fucking find him!”
Sergio was pulling strings from the shadows, unseen, while reaping carnage on us.
“Then what do you suggest?” Nero quirked a brow. “Come on. I know you’ll have some peace-loving solution.”
“I don’t.” I shrugged. Maybe I would if I gave a shit, but right now, I didn’t. “Just keep killing their soldiers and hope we can get the capos to turn. Hell, kill everyone. The mob. The Outfit. Fuck it.”
Nero narrowed his gaze on me, suspicion painted into every line. “And here I thought you would try to get us in a circle, singing kumbaya.”
“We need Sergio.” We had to cut off the head of the snake. I shoved to my feet and headed for the door, not in the mood for this. “Tell Una I have a job for her if she’s interested. Given what Sasha did, her precious fucking balance shouldn’t be a problem.”
* * *
I visited Tommy and made arrangements for him to be discharged in a few days before making my way back to the house. Truthfully, I was avoiding the place. Because I couldn’t handle her avoiding me.
I stepped inside the house and spoke with one of my men, ordering him to double up the patrols on the perimeter.
We were outside my office when Emilia came down the hall, a stern glare on her face. Her anger was like a rolling storm barreling across the space between us, but I welcomed her wrath, craved the scratch of my little kitten’s claws.
I half expected her to walk past and ignore me, the same way she had every time I’d seen her in the last week. As though I disgusted her. Instead, she walked straight toward me, and my pulse sped in response. God, she’d made me so desperate for a single second of her time.
I dismissed the guard and steeled myself for the rage that excited me so much.
When she stepped beneath the bright light of the overhead chandelier, I noticed the flush of her cheeks. I could have mistaken it for anger if it weren’t for the damp strands of her hair hanging down her back. The reddened skin extended down her neck and chest, and my jaw clenched hard at the sight of the mild burn.
I had told her to come to me.
“Emilia.” My voice was part greeting, part warning.
Because, as always, she’d defied me. Because she was suffering and harming herself.
“I want him gone.” She came to a halt in front of me, jerking her thumb back to Adamo, who hurried after her.
His nervous gaze flicked to me, and I wanted to laugh. I’d seen the guy kill in cold blood, but little Emilia Donato had him rattled. I was glad it wasn’t just me whose life she managed to fuck up.
