Toni hums in thought. "What about Sophia? Any leads?"
"No. Still missing." I glance at the wall of monitors in my office, one looping the footage of Roberto's body arriving at the police station. "Fabio didn't know anything about her or Roberto's murder. I don't think they're connected. Whoever took my sister wanted to send a message. They didn't just kill Roberto; they tortured everyone in that house. That wasn't business. That was personal."
"You think Margarita ordered something behind Fabio's back?"
"I don't know. It doesn't fit her MO. It was too messy. Too loud."
Toni shifts. I hear the rustle of fabric in the background. "So where does that leave us?"
"Looking at Raffael. He's gone off the map. Stephano sent him to handle something in Venezuela—Edoardo's been cozying up to the Venezuelans, trying to build new alliances since he lost control over some of the capos." I massage the back of my neck. Too much shit going on to keep track of.
Toni scoffs. "Trying to replace us."
"Exactly. Margarita got to one of my bodyguards. It's reasonable to assume she got to Raffael, too." I don't like thinking this or saying it out loud, because it means Sophia is in the hands of a madwoman—one I just sent the body of her lover to. But there was no way around it.
Toni's voice drops low. "We still going through with the plan for Carlos and Edoardo?"
"Absolutely. But we need to wait for the right opening. No mistakes."
"Agreed."
I lean forward, my voice dropping to match his. "If Sophia is hurt or…"
"I'll help you tear the whole fucking world apart to find her."
I smile, but there's no joy in it. "That's why I called you."
"Stay sharp, Orsi."
"You too, DeLuna."
I hang up and stare at the whiskey in my glass. I still haven't touched it.
The night is just beginning. And yet all I can think about is her.
Violet.
I'd give anything to have her here right now. Not even to touch her—just to look at her. To see the flicker of fire in her eyes when she's mad at me, the curve of her mouth when she's trying not to smile. I crave the sound of her voice like a dying man craves air. That smart mouth and sharp tongue ground me in ways nothing else can. She's the only thing in my world that feels honest.
She has this way of quieting the chaos in my head, just by being near. When her hand was on mine in the hospital, it was the first time I felt steady in years. That one soft touch did what painkillers, power, and violence never could—it reminded me I'm still a man. More than a mafia boss.
One night with her, and I forgot the blood I wade through every day. Forgot the crown I wear and the price it demands. With her, I'm not Marcello Orsi, boss of the Orsi empire. I'm just… me. Whoever that man is underneath all the scars.
But she's not here.
And I'm drowning in the weight of everything she left behind.
A part of me—raw, aching, irrational—wants to send men after her. Right now. Pull her into the car, bring her here into my home, into my bed where she belongs. Lock every door, every window. Chain her to my fucking side if that's what it takes to stop this unbearable emptiness.
I shouldn't want her like this. But I do. And I hate myself for it.
She left me. Walked away. Not because I failed her, but because she's scared of who I am. Who I have to be. And I hate that she is right to be afraid. Hate that I didn't stop her. Hate that I let her go when every bone in my body screamed to do the opposite.
She got under my skin, and now there's no ripping her out. She's in my blood. She's in my fucking bones.
If she were anyone else, I'd already have her wrapped in silk sheets and chained to my world by a ring or a collar—take your pick. But she's Violet. And that's exactly why I want her more than my next breath.
That's what I fucking love about her.
