ed to comfort me. Now

na!

he compound's service entrance. She was breathles

uffed, shoving the warm wicker into my arms. "Fresh focacc

row the basket

it bled, anything to purge the

e mercy of the Vitiello family. We p

" I wh

t, using it as a shield, and h

e floor tiles, counting them-one, two, three

sharply, trying to m

with an unyie

wind out of me. The bas

ed bread tumbled

n the

Italian suit that cost mor

e f

d down the lapel, leaving a dark, greasy trail o

d up, t

ared down at the

yell. He d

ecoi

hirt with two fingers, his face twisting into a mask of abs

, reaching out instinctively to b

flinch

re I could make contact, as

," he

ok at thi

, sharp, and dripp

oom. The Capo's daughter. She was wearing white

ttered bread, then at

" she drawled. She tossed the protein bar to him. "Here. Re

ar. He looked at B

nded by the ruins of

chest; I had spent months researching his diet, ensuring the dough

to the air, refusing to look

walked away with Bianca, lea

oked her head out from a su

red. "It's just a s

voice hollow. "So