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I run a tired hand over my face. “Go ahead. Give me the advice I never asked for.”

“Marrying her was a mistake, Matteo. But what’s done is done. We will deal with making sure the story is dead and buried. For now, we have even bigger issues regarding Giacomo.”

My blood turns to ice. “What about him?”

“He’s been moving a new drug. They call it Hushies. It’s like molly but stronger, and most of it is laced with fentanyl. He has the cops all over our operations now with these overdoses. I managed to speak with the chief to cool things off, but we need to take care of this.”

I dig my nails into the leather of my chair. Giacomo Feriamo has been a thorn in my side since we were young boys. We grew up together, and for a time, we had been friends. But life got hard, and he got greedy.

“And what about our new shipment of weapons from the Russians? Is the transaction set for Friday with the Mexicans?” I try to keep my mind from straying to Giacomo, but it’s hard. Theman is a hydra—no matter how many times you cut off his head, two more grow in its place.

“We have them all stored in the warehouse. We will do a stick count before Friday. Diego is set to fly in at 1:00 p.m., but we need to be quick. He’s on Interpol’s radar.”

“Fucking fantastic.” One thing I hate about dealing with these lower-level leaders is that they are never clean about their reputations. “We need to make sure this is a clean, in-and-out job. I don’t want the cops coming in and giving us an even bigger issue to contain.”

“Yes, boss. But we also have the Charlotte Gala to attend. You are a major donor, and the prospective governor will be there. It would be good to make friends.”

My stomach churns at the thought of schmoozing politicians, but I need them to ensure my business runs smoothly. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“With your new wife.”

“What? Why would I take Maria with me?”

“You just got married. The rest of the mafia world needs to see your wife. The rumors are flying, and the longer you keep her hidden, the weaker she appears. And the last thing we need is for people to make her a target.”

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. When I pull it from my pocket, I see a name on the screen I wasn’t expecting.

Maria.

It’s a text that reads:Will you be home for dinner?

My heart does an odd skip before thudding in my chest. I must be getting sick.

For a moment, I stare at the message, unsure why she even cares. It’s not like this is a real marriage.

But something about the simple question—for the first time in years, someone expects me to come home.

Matteo: No, we have a gala to attend. I’ll have a dress sent over, and a car will bring you to the venue.

I expect her to reply with some snide remark. But she doesn’t.

That, for some reason, irritates me more than it should.

Even after I send the message, I find myself staring at the screen, waiting… For what? I shake my head and put my phone away.

I look up the moment I hear, Valerio hiss under his breath.

“What?

“The warehouse. The one with Diego’s shipment…”

I sit up in my chair. “What about it?”

“It just got hit. The warehouse caught fire. Everything is gone. Almost three million dollars’ worth of arms—burned to a crisp.”

A sharp pulse beats against my temple. My vision narrows. Three million dollars—gone in smoke. My fingers dig into the leather of my chair, the fine grain creaking under my grip.

“We need to go.”