Killian
I pursed my lips as I watched the grandfather clock in the corner of my office. It ticked and ticked away, each second like a breath I imagined Giuseppe de Luca taking as he arrived at his father’s house after a long night with whores and dice.
My mouth twitched into a smile at the thought of what he’d find.
The clock chimed seven, and I looked up as Francesco Abate entered the room, his face twisted in exhaustion. Francesco was a few years my junior. Tall and burly, he dripped with brute force and a violent disposition that had taken years to rein in. He was still working on that, but I was in no hurry to tame him. Terrifying man, truly.
Francesco crossed his thick arms over his chest. “He knows.”
“Well, that didn’t take long,” I said.
A maid hurried in with a tray of coffee
