Salvatore's POV
Marco called at half past midnight.
I was still at my desk.
The wedding seating chart had long since stopped making sense, the names blurring into each other after hours of staring at the same configurations.
I'd been rearranging the Domenico contingent for the better part of an hour, trying to find a placement that kept Enzo's people visible without making the separation obvious enough to insult him.
It was the kind of problem that had no clean solution.
Much like everything else at the moment.
My phone buzzed and I picked it up before the second vibration.
"Talk," I said.
"She made it back." Marco's voice was low. The voice he used when he was somewhere he shouldn't be and was being careful about it. "Massimo's car came off the dock road about forty minutes ago. Dropped her at her building."
I set down my pen.
"And?"
