The villa is quiet when I walk in. Not silent, though, there’s the hum of low voices from the living room, but quiet enough that my pulse sounds louder than the door shutting behind me. I find her brothers where I expect them, sprawled across the couches, half-drunk and half-waiting. Angelo looks up first. “So?” he asks, lifting his glass. “How was Inferno?”
I unbutton the top of my shirt, cross the room, and pour myself a drink at the bar. The whiskey burns on the way down, but it doesn’t cool anything. “Packed,” I say finally. “Good night for business.”
Silvio’s eyes narrow. “And Nina?”
My grip tightens around the glass before I can stop it. “She was there.”
“And?” Massimo presses.
“She came with Josh,” I mutter. “Hand in hand.”
They just look at me for a second, and I can see in
