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She arrived around six thirty this morning. It was as if she was waiting for the men to leave. There was pumped-up security and new faces. No Rossi soldiers. I wasn’t sure whether Sandro still mistrusted them or it was because the family was stretched too thin. After all, Sandro took out eight of them.

Sloane arrived at nine but was in the study removing the last traces of that bloody day. Divina and I hung out in the living room with a regular TV for company and we were on our second pot of coffee. She kept scrolling on her phone, and I kept side-eyeing her. It would be so simple to find out what was going on with Tommy.

“Do you want me to call Dom and ask about Tommy?” I asked casually. When Sandro came back from his business with the Toronto Albanians, we were going to have a serious chat about seeing my family. I had an odd feeling that he was still keeping something from me, but my husband had so much on his mind, I didn’t want him distracted.

She glanced up from her phone and I saw the war in her eyes. “What are the consequences, though?”

“To me? To us? To Tommy?”

“Everything.”

“From what I can tell, the Rossi crime family is experiencing a monumental shift. Even if Sandro says Raffa has lost his influence, it’s still too soon to tell if it will last. And without Tommy, he’s short an underboss.”

I hated that Gian was the one accompanying him to see the Albanians.

I flipped through the channels, trying to find more news about the café, but with the limited access, all I got were cooking shows. “Is there any news on theManhattan Tattler? Can you at least give me that?”

“Yes, that’s the only one reporting,” Divina said. “Nothing new.”

“Have they made connections between the Rossis and De Luccis?”

“There are some comments, but I think one of the popular discussion boards is talking about the coincidence of the club fire and the Jabbin’ Java incident. They haven’t mentioned you.”

“Because I’m low-key. Except that time of the fashion show.” But most of social media had their eyes on Nico and Ivy then. “How about Ivy’s socials?”

“She hasn’t mentioned it, but she has been asked in one of her posts.”

I had a feeling they were up to something. The last thing I wanted was a retaliation. I was sure grabbing Tommy was part of the plan to find out about me.

Divina surged up from the couch. “I can’t take this waiting around.”

“Calm down.”

She burst into tears. “It’s easy for you to say. It’s not your husband who’s being held hostage.”

The irony.

“Imagine how my parents and family feel.”

Her breath caught and she had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry.” She looked around her. “There must be something we can do.”

Desperate times, desperate measures. And I wasn’t above using Divina to end this bullshit. I checked the clock. Themeeting with the Albanians was around nine or ten. Sandro should already be there and there was no distracting him now.

“There is, but I need you to fully be on board with this.”

She stopped crying long enough to ask, “What?”

“This is an abomination.” Sloane cringed. “Do you know how much this cost?”

The four of us—Sticks, Sloane, Divina, and I—were staring at the coffee stain on what I realized later was an authentic Persian rug. “I didn’t think Sandro was into collecting these.”

“He got that as payment from someone who owed him money,” Sticks said. “A boatload of money.”

“How much?” I asked, not with a little dread.

“Two hundred Gs.”

“What?” Divina and I exchanged looks. Maybe we should have picked a cheaper rug to ruin. But the living room was the quickest route to the side exit of the house away from the bunkhouse.