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When Sloane met us in the kitchen, I had a pitcher of margaritas ready.

I’d emptied a bag of chips on a platter and microwaved a bowl of queso.

“What are the guys doing for dinner?” Divina asked.

“They can fend for themselves,” I said. “I think they’ve ordered enough pizza to last us a few days.”

Divina gave a light laugh. Kind of a forced one, but it left no question she was still feeling guilty about what happened. “They sure did.” Then, as if she knew we couldn’t sweep this under the rug, she said, “It isn’t Miller’s fault.”

“Did I say it was?” I poured the margarita mixture into glasses and slid them to the women. “I think the problem here is the new chain of command. Dance club business…it’s Griselda, but here in this house, I have the say.”

Sloane laughed while taking a sip of her margarita. “Hate to tell you, Bianca, but it’s kind of hard for you to assert your position if you’re not even allowed a phone.”

“Sloane,” Divina snapped.

“What?” Her friend went wide-eyed with mock innocence. “I’m just stating the obvious. How will people listen to her if her position is clearly as a captive?”

“Let’s put it this way, assume this is my kingdom and I’m just denied a passport beyond it.”

Sloane snorted into her drink.

“What?”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Rossi.”

I looked at Divina. “Your friend is snarky.”

Sloane grinned.

“And annoying.”

She grinned wider.

We continued to snack on chips and queso, and when we a ran out of queso, I opened a jar of salsa. I would worry about the empty calories later. Sloane entertained us with interesting clean-up jobs. Apparently, she didn’t only work for the Rossis but a slew of criminal organizations.

The door to the house opened to a barrage of voices.

And screaming.

We all looked at each other, eyes wide, before we scrambled to our feet. “What now?” I muttered.

We rushed out of the kitchen and I was relieved to hear Sandro’s voice giving orders.

But anxiety rippled in my chest when I saw the change in the foyer.

The once pristine marble flooring was now covered in a pool of blood.

Chapter

Thirteen

Bianca

I saw Tommy first. “Where’s Sandro? Is he hurt?”

But his eyes were on Sloane. “Good, you’re here. Study. Now.”

Tommy’s voice was grim. “He’s fine. It’s Al.”