Too Late To Love: The Don's Dying Wife

s. Not for money. Not for Dan

had left me a sma

ntique from Sicily that she swore

I had placed it on his desk when he wasn't

eeded to hold it when

e, the air conditioning ch

shed marble floor as I pass

e video. They kn

p. When I reached his

re, blocking the

d, his voice hesitant. "

I said, my voice barel

under my eyes, the way my clothes hung off

ed. "She's here.

s voice crackled through the

side. I pushed

at his computer screen, his fa

eo played on a loop:

red, his expression unre

. His voice was

ght to the shelf behind his desk whe

r-bound books. I knoc

pt

hin, unsteady thread. I turned to fa

mples as if my presence were a migraine he cou

e one with the blue dr

oice drifted from the corne

the leather sofa, legs crossed, holdin

t to me," she

llow sensation opening u

at Dante. "I was upset. Dante told me to take whatever I wanted

onstricting my throat. "You

ty. "It was just a trinket, Elena. You ne

mother's,"

. And he had given it to his mistress t

to Sofia. I held out my hand, my own h

bubbles rise. "I don't think so," sh

pride shattering. "Te

is wife's hysteria. "Elena, stop causing a sc

reamed, my voice cracking.

it's always about the money." She reached into her

er eyes gleaming wi

high into the air, creating a cruel arc