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I entered the room with Cerberus on my heels and saw my father-in-law sitting ramrod straight in the uncomfortable carved wooden chair that was no doubt imported from Sicily, appearing every inch the king.

Something in me burned, and it felt like fury.

“You look comfortable,” I told him as I let Carla lead me to the velvet love seat and push me into the corner.

Lando leveled me with a dark glance, folding his hands over his trim stomach as he leaned back in the chair. “Do I? Because my son might be missing, which is a decidedly uncomfortable sensation.”

I shrugged one shoulder, worrying a thread in the upholstery. “Leadership suits you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Lando stiffen slightly and Carla shoot him a supportive smile.

“What’s being done to find my husband?” I asked the room at large as Ciro and Cesare joined the group and Luigi and Stefan settled at both entryways as if they were prepared for someone to storm the house.

“We have people tracking his phone,” Ciro started to brief. “But with the storms, interference is a problem. Ricky is talking to O’Hare to confirm the plane did touch down in Palermo, and we’ve hacked into CCTV to see if Dario and the men even reached the airport.”

“You think he could have been taken in Chicago?” I asked, shocked by the potential audacity.

To attack Dario was to attack the Cosa Nostra, not just in Chicago but outfits across the country, and in Sicily itself. There would be war. Something the United States hadn’t seen since the ’80s.

I itched to reach for my phone and start my own search for my husband. The Outfit had its resources, but I had my own, and they were much more varied.

“Why was Dario even on his way to Palermo?” I inquired, because to my knowledge, he hadn’t set foot on my native rock since the disastrous day of our wedding.

Niccolo’s father, Felipe, had taken over the Cosa Nostra after the death of my family, and he ran it in a decidedly insular way, keeping business to the Italians and only outsourcing to Dario’s Outfit when it was absolutely prudent. Unlike Papà, Felipe had no desire to expand his power base. Maybe losing his only son had something to do with it.

“Fiammetta, will you be a dear and get me some ginger ale?” Carla cupped my thigh with a trembling hand. “I’m suddenly feeling faint.”

I hesitated, because no one had answered my question yet and I didn’t want to miss anything pertaining to my missing husband, but Lando glowered at me and barked, “Get her something, girl. For God’s sake, can’t you see her shake?”

I muttered an Italian curse under my breath but did as I was told, hurrying out of the room to the kitchen with Cerberus, where Bonnie and Gertie were huddled with Chef around the wooden table, nursing cups of tea.

“Any news?” Gertie pressed as soon as I entered, all four of their faces lit with curiosity and hope.

I shook my head as I went to the fridge. “Nothing tangible. It seems they’re hoping for the best. There’s a weather system over the Med that might mean they diverted Dario’s flight, and the Wi-Fi on the plane could be down.”

“Hmmm,” Bonnie murmured, not convinced.

She had been a housekeeper for the Ferrettis since she was eighteen, and she knew better than the others what an unexplained disappearance could mean.

“If you want to distract yourself,” Gertie said quietly, “a package from Saks arrived for you today. I think it might be from Dario.”

I blinked at her, almost spilling the pop I was pouring into a glass.

It was our sixth wedding anniversary, but Dario had never bought me a gift.

Not once.

Why would he start now?

Did he feel guilty for turning me out on my ass after fucking me into the carpet beside a dead traitor?

Unlikely.

Shame didn’t seem to factor into his personality.

His moments of sweetness, when they did come, were always fleeting.

Mostly in the dark of night, when he held me after fucking me, stroking my hair back, breathing deeply at the join of my neck and shoulder as if I was a bouquet of flowers he couldn’t get enough of.