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He licked his lips, and even in the shadows, I could feel his eyes on my body, drawing over my breasts and down my belly. I listened with one ear as he waxed poetic about undoing my corset with his teeth and spreading me open like a present, while I slowly counted down the minutes until the drugs hit his system.

When his speech started to slur, it was five, but it took a full ten for his head to droop against one shoulder, his hands limply open in his lap, waiting for me to climb onboard.

Without hesitation, I moved his chair back and stood in front of the dark computer. It turned on with a low musical note and then prompted for a password. I tried Johnny’s thumb on the print pad, but when that didn’t work, I grabbed my lipstick, unlocking the bottom to pull out a USB.

Hank had given me the program, a present from The Fallen’s top hacker, a man named Curtains out of the West Coast of Canada. I hadn’t met a computer the hacking device couldn’t crack, and a minute later, Harry Bellocchi’s computer was unlocked.

“Yippee,” I cheered softly as I maneuvered through the files until I found what I was looking for.

My client wanted to put an end to the deal between the Yemeni rebels and the South African arms dealers before it could be made, because they had significant business interests that would be upset by an escalation of violence in the area.

I wanted access to Harry Bellocchi’s records because he was one of the top black market financial brokers in the world, and there were rumors he worked with the hit man known as Lo Spettro, the ghost I’d been hunting for the last six years.

Ten minutes later, I was closing the door on a peacefully passed-out Johnny when I heard the commotion in the main room of the apartment.

“Where the fuck is Fiammetta Ferretti?” someone was demanding.

A someone I recognized instantly.

When I entered the parlor, Luigi flanked Cesare, Dario’s consigliere and right-hand man. The short, swarthy man glared at me as he powered forward, ignoring the avid bystanders to take me by the arm.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone?” he demanded in a low, furious growl.

“I’m at a party,” I said with a pleasant smile. “It would be rude.”

He snorted, and for a moment, if it had been possible, I thought he might breathe fire. “For fuck’s sake, you’re a brat.”

I didn’t deny it.

“What’s going on?” I asked, but he was already dragging me down the hall toward the door. “Alessia’s here, shouldn’t we grab her too?”

I didn’t know what my friend saw in the grumpy mafioso, but they had been together for years now, and Cesare was usually fiercely protective of her. When he didn’t hesitate in hauling me away and ignored my inquiry, something bitter bloomed on the back of my tongue.

Stefan was outside, a gun in one hand tucked close to his side so that the partygoers couldn’t see it.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Cesare,” I tried again as my heart began to jackrabbit. “What’s happening?”

He ignored me as he hauled me out the door and Stefan slammed it behind us. We were moving then, almost running toward the elevator.

“Cesare!” I shouted, ripping my arm out of his hold even though I knew it would leave bruises. The elevator pinged, and Stefan bullied me inside it. I ignored him, thrusting a finger at Cesare, too filled with ominous premonition to notice how it was shaking. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s Dario,” Cesare admitted through gritted teeth, checking his own gun before tucking it back into his shoulder holster, the safety off. “He’s been taken.”

Chapter Seventeen

Fiammetta

Edgemont House had been turned into a military fortress by the time Luigi pulled past the gates into the circular drive. There were double the guards at each entry point to the house, triple at the gate, and more stalking through the house itself when he entered.

I could hear Lando’s voice raised in anger from somewhere down the hall, and the softer female titter of other voices, probably from the kitchen, where the staff were no doubt gossiping.

About the fact my husband had been abducted.

I blinked down at the marble mosaic in the center of the foyer, wondering how such a thing could have happened.

Not only was Dario covered twenty-four seven by the best security the Outfit had to offer, but he was a weapon in and of himself. Six foot five of towering, finely honed slabs of muscle from calves to forearms. I had once seen him break a man’s skull by headbutting him.