Page 105 of The Butcher's Wife

“Good.”

When I leavethe bedroom hours later, Annetta’s asleep in a nest of bedsheets.

Turi had texted back to let me know the girls Annetta risked her life for were already at the airport to head home. I guess Marisol isn’t a total piece of shit.

Just outside the bedroom door, Rafa pulls a chair over and sits down. He sets his phone and gun in his lap and glances at me over his glasses.

“You got this?” I ask.

“Yeah.” His attention is already back to the door. “Have fun.”

I pass by another of Turi’s men—Camillo—in the apartment lobby. Mauro’s stationed outside on the street. I’m not taking any more risks this time.

In my truck, I call up Turi. He answers on the first ring.

“Dom,” he says as a greeting.

I stab the keys into the ignition. “Don’tDomme. Is Aceto still at his house?”

“Yes.”

“Is he planning to hurt Annetta?”

“Not that I know of. He’s upset his son threatened her. He knows we’re going to be watching him now.”

I roll my eyes. “Alright. What about Lasso? Annetta said he’s the fuck that hit her.”

“If Lasso has a connection to the Chiarellis, he’s better off alive?—”

“I don’t give a fuck, Turi. Maybe you should have thought of that when your wife putmywife’s life at risk.”

“She can make her own decisions.”

It’s not clear whose wife he’s talking about, but I don’t give a shit.

“I’m sick of her life being constantly in danger.”

“I understand.” And it fucking pisses me off that he does. “I’m working on it.”

The bastard’s voice barely rises. Salvatore Luporini and his perfect fucking blood pressure.

“By going on double-dates with all the capos to find a sweetheart for your brother?”

Ever since his half-brother Nico moved into town, he’s been way too focused on finding him a girlfriend instead of shit that actually matters.

“Securing a marriage between Nico and one of our women gives us more security with the Commission, especially if the Chiarellis move against us.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the Commission! How many hoops do we have to throw ourselves through for their precious approval? When Marisol was under threat, I helped you to kill our fucking don. When Matteo?—”

“Don’t.”

I’m heaving like I’ve run a mile.

Matteo. He might not be here, but his memory binds Turi and me together like an invisible net.

“I’m your brother too,” I finally say. “And she’s my wife.”

After a heavy silence, Turi exhales, long and slow. “He’s getting drunk at the Pink Palace.”