“HONEYBUN’S DEAD.”
Fabiana’s knees buckled and she dropped to the couch. Stars burst before her eyes. “You’re lying.”
The man on the other end of the phone chuckled meanly. “Turn on the news.”
The cell phone dropped from her nerveless fingers. She stood up and walked over to the television set, praying silently.
His death was all over the news. Fabiana cried out when she saw the crumpled mess of his beautiful Enzo and the perfectly coiffed newswoman standing nearby, her bright red lips moving around words that Fabiana’s shattered mind didn’t register.
Warwicke dead? It wasn’t possible. In a fit of panic she grabbed the TV remote and started clicking through the channels, frantically hoping it was a mistake. Maybe one news organization had gotten it wrong.
But it wasn’t wrong. It was
