Dante
The only sound in my office was the soft hiss from the receiver on my desk. Matteo sprawled in the chair opposite, boots on the edge of my desk, flipping his lighter open and shut like he was keeping tempo for the room.
“You’re insane,” he said, flame up, flame down. “Bugging the Caruso estate? Even for you, that’s—”
“—effective,” I said, eyes on the tiny red diode.
He smirked. “Effective’s one word. Suicidal’s another.”
The static tightened, thinned, then sharpened into voices. Not just any voices—hers.
“…Dante threatened me with your debt,” Serafina said. Her tone was clipped, steady, and shaking at the edges in a way most men would miss. I didn’t. “Said you owed the wrong people. Said you’d end up buried if he didn’t intervene.”
Matteo sat up, the lighter going still
