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A growl ripped through the room, and I realized it came from Finn, whom Elijah was restraining with two hands now.

“Don’t say another word about that motherfucker,” Hank demanded. “You got more family than the one you married into, girl. We’re right goddamn here.”

I pulled my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t sob.

“Not gonna ask why those scum took you,” Hank continued. “’Cause, darlin’, I don’t gotta ask. Not a person here is unaware of who the man is you married.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I highly doubt that.”

There was no reason for anyone, save the members of The Fallen MC, and, obviously, Renata and Alessia as mafioso wives, to know who Dario really was. Oh, they would know the Ferretti name because it was synonymous with Chicago and high society, but Dario was very careful to keep his underworld connections buried six feet deep, where no one who lived on the surface could find them.

Hank leveled me with a condescending look. “Ones who didn’t know, we told when shit got real the last few days. It don’t matter to a single fuckin’ one of us so long as he keeps you safe. He didn’t do that, and far’s I’m concerned, that’s one strike, and he’s out. You need someone at your back, it’ll goddamn be one of us.”

“Hank,” I said on a tremulous smile because that was as sweet as he ever got, and the offer meant everything to me. “I have bodyguards already, people whose job it is to look after me. A-and if you know who my husband is, you know he would never agree to have someone outside the Family take my back.”

“He didn’t have to agree today,” Booker argued, pushing off the mantel to go to the coffee table and pour himself a mug of straight bourbon. “As soon as those fuckers contacted The Fallen, we were all involved.”

“Before,” Akira countered. “We were already looking for you, Fi.”

Alessia led me to a huge armchair and sat me in it before wiggling in beside me, her arm around my shoulders. Lily perched primly on one overstuffed arm and Renata on the other. Katya silently assumed sentry beside Ren.

“Did you call the police?” I asked, sinking into the plush cushions.

“Not exactly,” Hank admitted after sharing a dark look with the others.

“Who did you call?” A prickle of foreboding trickled down my spine as I sat upright again.

As if on cue, the front door slammed.

All eyes went to the doorway, but I kept mine on Hank.

“Who did you call, Hank?” I repeated.

He swallowed thickly and rubbed a hand over his beard. “Had no choice in the matter but to call it in, missy. I would’a taken care of it myself, but my orders came from the prez, and he didn’t want any shit between us and the Italians.”

I closed my eyes just as the air in the room went wired.

I didn’t need to open them to know my husband had arrived.

“Everyone. Out.”

I kept my eyes closed as I spoke, “No. My friends stay. After what I just went through, I think you can do me the courtesy of allowing me comfort from my loved ones.”

No one moved for a long moment.

“I’m staying if she wants me here,” Elijah offered bravely.

“Same,” Finn echoed.

“All of us’ll say the same,” Walter grumbled.

A low, rumbling growl from my husband.

“This is my house, and I’m asking you—nicely—one more time before I add your blood to the red I’m already wearing. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“That don’t sound too grateful to the men who helped find your wife,” Hank said calmly.

“Oh,” Dario hissed sinuously, “you have my gratitude, but it is dwindling with every second you overstay your welcome. And I think we both know that your president, Madman, is not going to turn down my gratitude.”