"I think you think you can," I say, "and that just might be enough to make it happen."

He considers that as he tosses some of his peel to the ground. "I'll see what I can do."

I knew he would.

Curiosity will always win out when it comes to Lorenzo. Besides, I'm sure he enjoys the challenge. That's why he's here, after all, why he even made the move to New York City. He does what the world tells him is impossible to do. Maybe it's just a game at this point, or maybe he's out to prove something to himself. To prove he's not one to ever back down.

It isn't going to end well for somebody, that's for certain.

I don't want to stick around and watch it play out.

But people, they're making it hard for me.

They're making it hard for me to live my life.

"So," Lorenzo says after a moment. "What do you want this meeting for?"

I glance at him. "I guess you'll find out."

Sudden noise breaks the silence. My phone. I pull it out of my pocket and glance at it, my muscles tightening. Her name is flashing on the screen. Karissa.

I press the button to answer and bring it to my ear. "Karissa? What do you need, sweetheart?"

Silence.

It's deafening.

It screams louder to me than any words.

"Karissa?"

Still nothing.

All at once, I know it's not her. It's like a feeling wafting through the line, the air wrong, too tense, too heavy. Someone is there. I can sense it. Someone's listening, someone's breathing, someone's existing on the other end of this call.

But it's not her.

Not again.

"Who is this?"

I don't expect anyone to answer me.

And for a moment, they don't.

But after a strained breath, a long exhale, I hear the words. "You're lucky I don't feel like killing anyone today."

The line goes dead.

I pull the phone away, staring at it as the call ends. You're lucky I don't feel like killing anyone today. I know those words. I've said them. I can feel the blood drain from my face, can feel it rushing through my body, bitterly cold, replaced by an ice in my veins.

"Ignazio, you okay there?" Lorenzo asks. "You're looking kind of pale."

My vision blurs. Everything goes black around the edges.

I sway, damn near passing out, as it all seems to hit me at once.

Anger. Fear. Adrenaline.

It rushes through me, a toxic cocktail of emotion that nearly knocks my feet out from under me. Lorenzo reaches out, grabbing a hold of my arm, but it's too much. He's touching me. His tainted hands are on my skin.

I snap.

Grabbing him, I throw him back against the townhouse so hard he gasps from the surprise of it all. The orange drops from his hand, rolling along the sidewalk, as I pin him there. He doesn't fight. He doesn't struggle. He just stares at me, his expression blank, like he's not bothered at all.

"So help me God, Lorenzo, if this was all you…"

I can't even finish those words.

If this was all just a game.

A ruse...

I shove him again, knocking him hard against the brick, before I turn around and walk away, moving as fast as my legs will carry me. By the time I reach my car, I'm already at a sprint.

I drive home, speeding through the streets. It's dreary out, middle of the afternoon, but the darkened clouds make it feel much later. Everything is cast in gloomy shadows. It makes the hair on my arms bristle.

Everything feels hollow, more silent in the dark.

I pull the car into the driveway when I make it home, and throw it in park before pausing, my hand gripping the key in the ignition.

The garage is wide open.

The side door is, too.

My hair bristles even more.

Cutting the engine, I reach under the seat, feeling around for War & Peace. I get a grip on it, pulling it out, and flip the pages open, grabbing the concealed gun.

The first thing I notice, when I step into the garage, is the blood on the concrete. No. No. No. It's not much, a few drops, but it doesn't belong here. It's not mine, and I hope like hell it's not Karissa's, but the alternative is there's somebody else here bleeding.

And I don't like that just as much.

I step through the side door, right into the kitchen. The second I do, I hear the faint growling. It's weak and strained, over in the corner. My eyes dart that way, my stomach dropping when I see Killer.

He's cowering there, blood on his face. I don't think he's injured—not seriously, at least. He seems to be in one piece, but somebody else might not be. Carefully, I reach into the cabinet, quietly grabbing a few treats. I toss them to him, and he quiets to a whimper, but he doesn't eat them.

Not this time.

"Stay in the kitchen," I tell him. "Stay quiet."

Will he listen? I don't know.

I don't even know if he understands.

But if there's a chance anyone else is still in the house, I'm not ready to alert whoever it is to my presence.

The living room is wrecked. A lamp is knocked over, lying on the floor. Scanning the area, something shiny catches my eye, and I step toward it, looking down at it.

My world stops.

A necklace.

Karissa's necklace.

The one I gave to her.

The chain is snapped, the round crystal pennant reflecting the little bit of light streaming into the room. She never takes it off. She wouldn't take it off. She certainly wouldn't leave it here, broken, on the floor.

Not unless she didn't have a choice.

Reaching down, I pick it up, holding it up by the chain to eye the thing.

Carpe Diem.

I grip the necklace tightly, fisting it, as I tear through the house, looking for her. There's no more blood, and the rest of the house is in order, but there's no sign of her anywhere.

No fucking sign of her.

My hands are shaking. Anger merges with fear until the red I see turns blue. I feel cold. A shiver tears down my spine.

They're not going to take another life from me.

They can't have my wife.

They can't take her.

They can't steal my happiness.

I'm not going to let them.

Not now. Not ever.

Not again.

Not again.

"What happened?"

The sudden voice behind me makes my back stiffen and my grip on the gun tighten, but I don't turn around. I don't look at him. I didn't hear him sneaking up, but I'm not at all surprised he's here. Not surprised that he followed me.

"My wife," I say, my voice strained. "Somebody took her."

"Uh-oh."

Uh-oh.

Lorenzo says 'uh-oh', like that's an adequate response to what I just said. He'll be lucky if I don't give him a 'boo-boo' in the form of a fucking bullet to the head.

"For the record," he says, "it wasn't me."

"So you say."

Tucking the gun into my waistband, I pull out my phone, hoping like hell Karissa's is still on, wherever it is, so I can locate it.

"Look, Ignazio," he says. "I don't know how many times I've got to say it. I've got no reason to target you, or your father, or your wife, for that matter. It's not me."

The phone connects, and I look down at it, staring at the address.