Vito leaned his forehead against the cool mahogany of the door, his eyes closing in a rare moment of defeat.
He could break the door down in seconds.
He was the Capo, and nothing in this house happened without his consent but he reminded himself that forcing his way in would only push her further into Mateo’s waiting arms.
“Rest then,” he whispered, so low she might not even have heard him.
Vito lingered there for a long time, listening to the silence of the room, before finally turning away.
Milan was only able to sleep after he left.
As Vito walked back down the hall toward his study, his thoughts shifted toward the Saturday summit.
The Godfathers’ Night hung over like a death sentence. He had been having terrible nightmares but for Vito, the real war was being fought in the aisles of Angels Den the next day. When he caught Milan bent over a sink, pale and trembling.
His concern was instantly swallowed by a toxic, burning jealousy.
“Why are you vomiting? Don’t even try to tel
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