The Halsted warehouse was already half collapsed by the time Elena's car reached the perimeter, flames still working through the roof beams in long orange tongues against the afternoon sky, black smoke rolling east in a column visible from three neighborhoods away.
Nico was there before her, standing too close to the fire line for anyone's comfort, shouting orders at men who didn't need shouting to move faster. He turned the second he saw her climb out of the car, and the look on his face told her the last twenty-four hours hadn't softened a single thing between them.
"Rossis," he said, before she'd even reached him. "It has to be. Two days after the engagement dinner, they burn the one warehouse that still runs product through Halsted since Uncle Carmine died there. Tell me that's a coi
