Page 70

“There was a fight. Antonio got shot, and I got sent away.”

That explains the year she was missing from her husband’s side. “But you and Antonio are together again.”

“Yes, we made up. It helped that Olivia told him the truth.”

“Ah.” Things are becoming clearer now. “That’s why he sent her to Italy.”

“Yes.”

“She should have told me all this,” I mutter, more to myself than to Isabella.

“Perhaps she was afraid you’d think less of her.” Isabella sighs heavily. “She’s a puzzle, that girl. So tough, so confident, yet so fragile.”

My wife is a contradiction, but I suspect given the right encouragement, she’ll triumph over her insecurities. She was already well on her way to proving herself a worthy partner for me.

“You think she’ll forgive me?”

Isabella nods. “She will, and she won’t force you to grovel half as hard as you should. She’s too generous to make you suffer.”

“I’ll grovel as much or as little as she wants. I just want her back safely.”

“Leo will protect her.”

I don’t frighten Isabella by telling her I doubt he’s in any condition to look out for Olivia. Whoever has them will waste no time in making sure he’s in no fit state to fight. The blood on the driver’s side of the car suggests he was already injured. Leo’s a beast of a man, but he’s still human. Subjected to enough brutality, his body will break.

I try to summon words of reassurance for Isabella, but I draw a blank. Thankfully, I don’t have to fill the awkward silence that descends as a commotion from inside draws our attention. Holding a hand up to Isabella to signal that I should go first, I open the door and walk back into the study.

Matteo and Jimmy are dragging a bruised and bloodied Dario Maroni into the room. His wrists are zip-tied and he has a gag stuffed in his mouth. His eyes are swollen shut and his nose is broken. They drop him onto a wooden chair in front of Antonio’s desk. Isabella pushes past me and stares down at him with disdain.

“Is this Maroni?” She glances at Matteo for confirmation. He nods, and she snorts in disgust. “You’re getting blood on the carpet, asshole.”

“Isabella.” Antonio places a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs?”

“First, I want to know one thing.” She yanks the cloth gag out of his mouth and tosses it on the floor. “Was it you who took the photos of Olivia?”

Maroni says nothing, but he twists his bloodied lips into a smirk. Isabella draws back her hand and slaps him hard. Then she turns and strides from the room. She’s not a patch on my wife, but she’s still magnificent.

Jimmy grabs a handful of Maroni’s hair and pulls his head back. “Tell them what you told us.”

“It’s Leo she wants, and him.” He tips his head toward me. “And anyone else who was there the night her son was killed.”

“Whose son?” I demand. “Who are you talking about?”

“Zita.”

There’s only one woman I can think of with that name. I furrow my brow in confusion. “Zita Balogh?”

“Yeah.”

At Maroni’s confirmation, I exchange a look with Antonio and Matteo. They’re clearly as surprised as I am to hear she’s behind this. Her son was a small-time criminal. We didn’t expect there to be repercussions when we killed him.

“Who is she working with?”

When Maroni doesn’t answer, Matteo punches him, sending blood and saliva flying from his mouth.

“I don’t know anything.” Maroni coughs violently. “They’re from Europe.”

“Hungarians?” I muse, since that’s where Balogh was from.