Isabella had called me late last night. I’d only spoken to her once after I’d left, when she’d called to tell me Salvatore had handed everything over to our uncle, Roman. She hadn’t called when Effie had broken her arm. I’d only found out about that when I saw Effie wearing a hot-pink cast in one of the photos. She also hadn’t called to tell me about her engagement to Luke. That too I’d seen when I’d spied the rock on her finger in another photo of my daughter. Not that I cared about her marrying Luke. They deserved each other. Where Isabella was concerned, I had no affection. She was the mother of my child. That was all. We’d always be connected no matter what, but that didn’t mean anything more.

No, she’d called to tell me about a body turning up. The body of Mateo Castellano. I’d known Mateo. He’d done some work for my fa—for Franco Benedetti—a few years ago. He’d actually tipped me off about a deal being a trap, which had probably saved my ass, even though I hadn’t acknowledged that fact then. Too fucking arrogant. We’d gotten along well. He’d become a friend even. But then he’d disappeared, moved on, I guessed. He, like I was now, was a nobody. He went where the money took him.

I didn’t get the reason for her call at first. People in our line of work died all the time. A side effect of mafia life. Hearing about Mateo’s death, though, had been a little like when I’d heard my brother Sergio had been killed. It made me pause.

There was more. Isabella said the killer had intended for the body to be found. It had been meant to send a message. Castellano had been worked over, which didn’t surprise me, then shot execution-style: bullet to the back of the head. But there was one more thing. Two more things, actually.

His tongue had been cut out. He was a snitch.

I had told her callously that I wasn’t totally surprised, considering he’d snitched before when he’d saved my ass. But she’d told me to shut up and listen. There’d been a mark on him. A brand. It was in the middle of his chest. She’d seen a picture of it. How she’d gotten her hands on a photo like that, I had no idea, although she was incredibly resourceful. Never underestimate Isabella DeMarco. Hadn’t I learned that yet?