WHERE THE f**k IS IT?
Bruno soliloquized as he tore through the drawers of the heavy oak dresser. High-end shirts and expensive silk ties rained indiscriminately onto the hardwood floor. His breathing was heavy, wet, and erratic. Paranoia clawed at the inside of his skull like a trapped, rabid animal. His fragile ego bled from an invisible, agonizing wound. He could feel the betrayal deeply in his very bones.
His father and his wife. Dio mio.
The thought alone made his vision swim with red-hot fury.
"Baby," a soft, whining voice cooed from the bedroom doorway.
Isabella stood there, wearing a sheer silk robe that clung loosely to the slight bump of her stomach. The cloying stench of her cheap vanilla perfume instantly flooded the room, turning Bruno's stomach sour. She walked up behi
