“When, Sienna? We’ve found nothing about this Snake. They’ve hit us repeatedly, and we have nothing to show for it. Nothing to prove who it is and no way to take them out. Every lead has been a dead-end, or they’ve been one step ahead every damn time.”
“I know, but—”
His glare caught me in the crossfire. “There are no buts. That’s the fucking truth. Something needs to be done, and it needs to be done now.” His hand yanked on the car handle, the door nearly crashing into the car next to us. I scurried out after him but realized he wasn’t heading upstairs. He was heading out towards the street.
“Where are you going?” I demanded, chasing after him. My hand tried to grip his arm. I tried to stop him. He shrugged me off.
“Out. To finally fucking finish this,” he snarled. “Don’t wait up.”
That last part hurt. His words were filled with venom, with blame. I knew he didn’t blame me directly, but the insinuation that we haven’t been doing enough hit its mark pretty well. I stopped short, watching as he disappeared. There was nothing I could do to stop him, nothing I could say to take the pain away.
I just hoped this wouldn’t be the last time I saw him alive.
He was gone for days. Every night I waited up for him on the couch, watching the door, praying it would open. But there was nothing. No word from him, no sightings. I’d even sent my own men out looking for him, but they’d come back empty-handed each time. I had no idea what Dante was doing, where he was at.
It worried me. For the first damn time since we’ve been married, I was scared. He wasn’t in his right mind to be out alone right now. I had no idea what he could possibly be doing. I didn’t even know if he was still alive. His mother’s funeral had come and passed just a day ago. I’d stayed in the back, paying my respect but keeping a good distance from the Scaranos. His father had been at the forefront, a stoic statue dressed in black beside the freshly dug grave. Dante never showed up.
I couldn’t focus and could barely get through the final meetings in halting our shipments. Mateo noticed but said nothing. His silent disapproval was growing day by day, but I couldn’t find it in me to give a shit. Yet, he wasn’t the only one to notice I’d been distracted.
Gemma showed up on my doorstep a few days later, looking concerned. She studied the dark circles beneath my eyes before pursing her lips and brushing past me into my apartment. I didn’t feel up to arguing with her, so I just quietly shut the door.
“Why haven’t you gone after him?” Gemma demanded, hands on her hips.
I blinked, surprised. “What?”
“You’re the fucking Don, Sienna. And, before that, you were one of our best hitters with contacts all over the damn underground. And yet, here you are sulking.” Each one of her words was like daggers.
“I’m not sulking,” I replied brusquely. “I’m just giving him some space.”
Gemma shook her head, not buying it for a second. “Si, his mother just died. In his arms. Right in front of him. You found your father already dead, and he never left your side.”
As if I needed her to point out the glaring difference between Dante’s actions and my own. But this was different. I’d been heartbroken when I found my father dead, sure. But Dante? Dante had been wrecked. His words in the garage made it clear that nothing I said or did would be helpful, that they would all just be blanket statements I’d grown up hearing all my life.
“You need to do something.”
“Why are you so concerned?” I snapped. “He’s not your husband.”
Gemma snorted. “No, but you’re my best friend. And I’m pissed you’ve turned into this,” her hand motioned towards my sweatpants and hoodie, “instead of the badass woman I know you are. If you really wanted to, you could track him down.”
“And if he doesn’t want to be found?”
She rolled her eyes. “Then you find him anyway.”
“I can’t just walk up to my old contacts and start demanding answers,” I told her. This conversation was already giving me a headache. I headed towards the coffee maker.
“Why not?” Gemma shot back. “You’re the Don, Sienna. Use some of that power.”
“I can’t. And you know it.” Dealing with contacts was always precarious, but as Don, I had to be especially careful. The politics right now were fragile.
The attacks John Banner had mentioned at the precinct had all been done against one or more of the other mafia families—the Russians, the Irish. Luckily, Mateo had reached them in time to explain that our guns had been stolen before the warehouse had burned down, but they were still distrustful. They’d only given us so much time to right this, to find the Snake and provide proof it wasn’t us that had killed those people. If I went around demanding answers about my missing husband, I could easily be the cause of that tentative truce to crumble. And then there’d be war.
But Gemma never had to worry about any of this. She got to reap the benefits of being in the mafia without actually having to do anything. The money, the cars, the parties—all of that was handed to her and had been her entire life.
“You know nothing,” I said finally, pouring a cup of hot coffee into a mug. My back was to her, but I could still imagine her reaction anyway.
“I know enough,” she hissed. “Go look for him, Sienna. Something feels wrong to me, and I’m sure it feels wrong to you too. There hasn’t been a word about Dante these past few days. Don’t you find that odd?”
I stiffened. “No. People go underground all the time and just disappear. He’s probably off somewhere licking his wounds.”