"That's wonderful news, Olivia! We're excited to have you with us!" he replied, and I could hear the satisfaction beneath the warmth. A man like Salvatore Mancini didn't get excited. He got strategic. Recruiting the woman who had managed every laundered dollar flowing through the Sloane syndicate for the better part of a decade was the quietest act of war anyone had ever committed against Dominic.
I knew what I was doing. I knew what it meant.
The second the call ended, Dominic walked out of the bathroom. His hair was damp, and beads of water still clung to his skin. The silver lighter sat on the edge of the sink where he'd left it. Penny's lighter. He carried it everywhere, never lit a thing with it.
He used to take five minutes in the shower. Lately, he'd been spending at least half an hour, always with his phone in hand.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked, not even looking up from his screen.
"I was on the phone with Salvatore Mancini," I replied honestly.
The name should have stopped him cold. Mancini. The family that had been locked in a cold war with the Sloanes for a decade. The name alone, spoken inside this house, should have made the soldiers downstairs shift on their feet.