Vittorio’s POV
“Merda!” I slammed the crystal tumbler so hard against the bar that the amber liquor sprayed across my knuckles. The glass didn’t break. Shame.
I shouldn’t be waiting this long. Not for her.
“Pietro!” My voice snapped like a whip across the marble expanse of the living room.
The little bastard was at the far end of the room, his fingers jittering across his laptop, pretending to look busy. He flinched from behind his laptop, his eyes lit blue like a ghost caught on a screen. The click of his fingers paused. I saw his shoulders tighten. He didn’t look up.
“Don De Luca,” he mumbled, voice tight. “Just narrowing the location pings. Another sweep—”
“You’ve had hours.” I moved toward him barefoot, sweat still rolling off my body after my intense boxing match. A towel was s
