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I spent the night tossing and turning, waking every so often only to find he hadn’t returned.

He wasn’t back for breakfast, and as I slathered avocado mayo on a piece of sourdough, I was still alone.

“It’s not like I want him back,” I muttered.

Not that long ago, I was planning vengeance for our forced union. Now this pent-up fixation with his whereabouts and our interrupted evening was doing battle against my resolve.

I took the food to the balcony, where I discovered I wasn’t quite alone. An elderly couple was sipping a smoothie, enjoying the heat under the shade of their own balcony next door.

We shared a smile as I took my seat at the bistro table.

The moment I took a bite, the lady called out, “Did you hear that piano music yesterday? I wonder who was playing so beautifully.”

Heat flared on my cheeks.Please, holy mother, don’t let it be the second time.I would never live that down if they’d heard the duet.

“That was me,” I said after swallowing my food.

She hummed, taking a long sip of her smoothie. “We enjoyed it. You played the concerto perfectly.”

Oh, good.The first time.

“We had a dinner reservation, so we never heard you finish the aria,” she continued, easing my anxiety almost completely.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, the food seeming to stick in my throat.

“Yeah, very good, very good,” the man muttered, speech slurred.

The soft look the woman gave him and the absence of alcohol had me guessing his speaking was due to age and infirmity rather than a cocktail.

“We look forward to hearing you again,” the woman added.

I inhaled my last bite to save myself from replying.

A knock on the door sent the bread choking down my throat. I gave the couple a quick wave, coughing around the lump of sandwich, and hurried back inside.

Some sixth sense had me stopping. It couldn’t be Markos. He had a key. I wasn’t expecting any packages, since everything I’d ordered had arrived this morning. I peered through the keyhole to see a dark haired, petite woman. Relief mixed with confusion, but I opened the door and smiled at Iris.

“Hi there,” I prompted.

She looked me up and down, disgust clearly scrawled on her face. It disappeared in a blink. “Ready to spring this joint?”

It was my turn to frown. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to leave.”

The fact that my car was back in the parking lot and Markos had told me where I could and shouldn’t go, I kept to myself. Something about this tiny woman made me uneasy.

Iris waved her hand dismissively. “You’re with me, you’ll be fine.”

“Um, okay, if you cleared it with Markos?” I retreated inside to set my plate in the sink and grab my purse.

Iris hovered on the threshold, glaring at the piano.

“You did clear it with Markos?” I insisted, house key in hand. I wished the pirate would give me a phone so I had contact him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Iris brightened.

The emotion felt forced, and my stomach did a queasy flip. But I couldn’t conceive of a scenario where this little woman would actually hurt me. The dynamic of the mob meant I was untouchable as a wife.

That’s the code of the Italian mob....The little voice of warning whispered through my mind.