Page 91 of Stolen Touches

“No.”

I lean back in my chair. “You’re being transferred to one of my capos. You’ll work as a bodyguard to his wife. While you’re there, if anyone asks, youaregay.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s pathologically jealous, and he’s already killed the previous three men assigned to that position. He thinks you’re gay anyway, so I hope it’ll make things easier.”

“All right.” He nods. “Which capo?”

The phone on my desk vibrates.

“Rocco Pisano,” I say and read Nino’s name on the screen. “You can go. Arturo will give you the details.”

“Yes, Boss.”

As Alessandro turns to leave, I catch a glimpse of the expression on his face. He’s smiling.

“Yes,” I say into the phone.

“Boss. Arturo’s sister is missing.” Nino’s grave voice says from the other end.

“Which one?”

“Asya. She and Sienna snuck out and went to a bar last night. Sienna returned home around midnight. Asya never came back.”

“Phone?”

“Found in the bushes some distance from the bar, along with her purse,” he says, “I’m here with Arturo. There is no sign of his sister, but...”

“But?”

“One of the guys found blood in the snow, Boss. Her glasses were next to it.”

Shit. “Send me the address. I’m coming.”

I grab my car keys off the desk and leave the office. As I am walking toward the elevator, I pass by Alessandro who’s talking on his phone with someone. His tone is low, but I still manage to catch one sentence.

“Felix,” Alessandro says into the phone, “It’s Az. I need you to do something for me.”

Epilogue

Two years later

I can’t believe he did it again.

The elevator pings open. Paying no heed to Salvatore’s secretary who is gaping at me from behind her desk, I march across the office foyer toward the big ornate door on the right.

“Mrs. Ajello?”

I stop and throw a look over my shoulder. “Yes, Ginger?”

“Is everything . . . okay?” the secretary asks, her eyes going from my tangled hair, over Salvatore’s gray T-shirt which I’m wearing, to my bare feet.

“Of course it is.” I grin widely, grab the knob and enter my husband’s office.

With hands on my hips and a scowl on my face, I walk around his desk and come to a stop next to him. Salvatore looks up from the laptop, then leans back in his chair.

“Did you sleep well, vita mia?”