Page 125 of Immoral

"Where's Dante?"

"He and Bridget aren't back from Fashion Week yet. He's stuck in traffic," Tristano replies.

I count to ten. Dante and I know each other's moves before we make them. I always feel better when he's with me, but Massimo and Tristano will have to do.

"Do you know how many men are with him?" Papà asks.

"They told us three, but it could be a lie," Killian answers, stepping into the room with Tully.

"Is anyone else back?"

Papà shakes his head. "Everyone is in traffic. Arianna only got back because she left early."

"Where is she?" Killian asks.

"In her room."

He rushes out of the room.

"So there are no Ivanovs, no O'Malleys besides Killian, and only the three of us?" I ask.

"I'll go," Tully volunteers.

"No. You stay. I need you to interview all the guards. You've never met them. We need to know if there's even a slight possibility someone could be playing us. You're the best person to do it right now since you're not biased," Papà insists.

He laces his fingers together then stretches them outward, cracking his knuckles. He moves his neck to both sides, cracking it, too. "Done."

"Let's go," Papà orders.

They leave. My brothers and I follow them out. Papà gets into the SUV with us.

I pin my eyebrows together. "What are you doing?"

His nostrils flare. He's possibly as angry as I am. He grits his teeth. "He took a Marino woman."

It's all he has to say. It's another rule the Abruzzos can't seem to respect. But it's not just a rule to Papà, my brothers, or me. It's an oath that no one should ever disregard. Most women in crime families don't participate in anything illegal. They don't hurt others or know most business details or secrets. Stepping over this line opens the door so no one's families are safe, and the Abruzzos are the only ones to have done it in several decades.

Tristano leans over the seat and retrieves more weapons. He hands all of us an extra Glock and pocket knives with easy releases. If we need to use them, they'll open in a second with little effort.

The SUV races toward Queens. A few blocks from Bow Street, Papà's phone rings. He answers, "Yeah."

The hairs on my neck rise as I watch his facial expression, not that it ever changes.

He sniffs hard. "Are any of his guards visible?"

Our driver turns the corner. I glance out the window, wondering which building it could be.

Massimo shifts and scrunches his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He blinks a few times then shakes his head. "Nothing. Ready to kill some Abruzzos."

"So they're all inside. Anyone on the roof?" Papà nods. "Good. Which building can we utilize?"

The car slows, and my pulse beats hard in my neck. I put my hand on the door.

Massimo puts his hand over mine. "Wait. Don't go blowing through there. She could get hurt."

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