I look across to Bobby. My insides squirm. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and I can see a big tattoo inked into his right bicep. He looks different tonight. Older, I guess. I didn’t know he had tattoos. God, why does he have to be a murderer?

Elliot smiles. “Have you been missing Bobby? Were you hoping he’d come visit you again?”

I drop my gaze to my hands. I did think he would visit me again. I thought they all would, but aside from Mr. Gretzky, I’ve been alone for days.

Doc shifts on the couch. “She’s disappointed, Morelli. She doesn’t wanna leave.”

I glance up at him. His blond hair is falling into his pretty blue eyes as usual. I remember his tattooed body arched over me, his mouth drawing on my nipple and a surge rolls through my body. His lip curls and I’m sure I know what he’s thinking. Should have chosen me, Tesorina.

Maybe I should have. Stripping can’t be scarier than going to Italy alone to live with Eli’s mafia cousins. Why does Doc have to be a murderer? And a psychopath? And a jerk?

“Don’t be disappointed, bella,” Eli says. “Just because you haven’t chosen any of us, doesn’t mean we’re angry. We’re … Doc? How would you put it?”

Doc’s eyes are bright and cold as a dying star. “Proud of you.”

“Yes,” Eli agrees. “Proud of you. In fact, bella, we’re so proud of you, we’d like to give you a goodbye present.”

My heart pounds so hard I’m sure it’s about to come crashing through my ribs. “What… what kind of present?”

Adriano shifts in his chair. I refuse to look at him. Wherever I’m going, be it Naples or into the ground, at least he won’t be there.

“On her knees,” Eli says lazily, and Gretzky pushes my shoulder making me tumble to the floor.

Eli waves a hand at him. “Thank you, Gretzky, that will be all.”

He leaves and then we’re alone. The four of them and me. The only sound is the hiss and crackle of the fire. I look to Bobby for reassurance, but his face is set. My stomach tightens. Sex or death. I can’t be here in my underwear for anything else. But surely, they won’t make me… in front of the others. That would be gross. It would be wrong.

Elliot clears his throat. “Domenico, show Miss Whitehall the Orchard.”

Doc puts his glass on the table beside the couch and stands. His tattooed feet are bare, and his black jeans are ripped at the knees. He pulls something from his pocket, smirking as though this is all a big joke. “Know what this is?”

I look at his hand. It’s a tiny plastic fish. The kind that has soy sauce in them at sushi places. Only the liquid in this one is clear. “Is it poison?”

Doc laughs. “I fucking wish.”

Elliot stretches his arms along the back of his chair. “Why would we poison you, bella? What a waste that would be.”