Four years later
My phone on the nightstand rings. I put down the folder I’ve been holding and pick up the phone with my left hand since my right one is cupping Isabella’s pussy, my finger buried inside. And unless there’s a fire or something similar, I don’t plan on removing it. I look at the screen showing the caller’s name and furrow my eyebrows.
“Who is it?” Isabella mumbles sleepily.
“Salvatore Ajello,” I say and take the call. “Yes?”
“Mr. Rossi. We may have a problem.”
“Something regarding the last construction project?”
“No. This is a personal matter,” he says. “There’s something of yours here. Something that shouldn’t have been in my city, Mr. Rossi.”
Jesus fuck. If someone from our Family was crazy enough to enter the New York region without permission, he’s dead, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Who is it?” I ask.
There are a few moments of silence before he finally answers.
“Milene Scardoni.”
