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Giulio’s dead.
My eyes start to burn with unshed tears, and after I park the Bentley, I grab my phone and take the elevator up to Dario’s penthouse.
When the doors slide open, Dario’s head snaps to me from where he’s sitting on a couch in his living room. He shoves the laptop off his lap and darts to his feet.
“Jesus, Renzo.”
My feet move, my burning eyes locked on my friend.
Without having to say a word, Dario grabs me in a crushing hug. “I’m so fucking sorry. We’ll find who did this and kill them.”
Bringing a hand up, I grip his shirt as I struggle to breathe through the excruciating pain.
Somehow, I remain standing.
Somehow, the tears don’t fall.
I pull away from Dario and walk to the table where a bottle of Macallan stands next to five tumblers. I open the whiskey and pour a couple of fingers before bringing the tumbler to my lips, and dowing the amber liquid.
I hear the elevator doors open, then Elio’s voice snaps, “I was worried out of my fucking mind! Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
I pour myself another glass of whiskey before I turn around.
Vincenzo and Fabrizio stand next to Elio while Dario’s walking toward me to pour himself a drink.
“Anyone else want a drink?” Dario asks.
“No, thanks,” Elio answers, his worried eyes locked on me. Letting out a sigh, he walks toward me and places his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
Not by a long shot.
I take a sip of the whiskey, then nod.
‘Thank you.’
The memory of Skylar Davies slams into my gut, and I quickly drink the rest of the amber liquid.
She won’t be thanking me when I cut Giulio’s kidney out of her body.
Setting the tumbler down on the side table, I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows and look at all the lights of New York City spread out before me.
Pushing my hands into the pockets of my pants, I say, “I want to know every single detail about Harlan and Skylar Davies.”
“On it,” Dario replies, and I hear him move as he takes a seat on one of the couches.
The fact that he’s not asking who they are tells me he’s already started digging for answers regarding Giulio’s murder.
Elio comes to stand next to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “All the arrangements have been made. The funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
Keeping my eyes on the city lights, I can only nod.
“Someone has to break the news to your mother,” he murmurs solemnly.
My voice is hoarse when I whisper, “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
When the elevator doors open again, and I glance over my shoulder, I’m not surprised to see Franco. His eyes land on me, and within seconds, he closes the distance and yanks me into a tight embrace.
Unlike when Dario hugged me, I can’t keep the tears from sneaking from my eyes, and I grip my best friend in a crushing hold.
