Abby looked at the city lights, thinking of Max, hoping he felt her love. She was stretched out on a lounge chair, a full glass of wine next to her on the terrace. She’d thought it might settle her nerves, but the first sip immediately soured in her stomach.

She hadn’t bothered trying to watch a movie or read a book. She knew instinctively there would be no point.

All she could think about was Max.

She’d grabbed the blanket off the couch and headed for the terrace, as close as she could get to him without being downtown.

She thought of her father, wondered if he was out there somewhere, if he could see or feel her.

“Watch out for him, Dad,” she murmured.

She’d never been sure she believed in life after death — in anything after death. Life itself had been too much of a struggle to lose any sleep over what happened when it was over.

But since her father’s death she’d found comfort in thinking he continued somehow. Maybe not in the woo-woo ghost way some people believed, but in the form of energy, his soul or consciousness or whatever the spiritual school du jour preached.

Sometimes she was sure she heard his voice — that combination of gruffness and tenderness that in the months he’d been sober had replaced his drunken bite — calling her name. Other times, it was more a feeling, like being in the same house with someone who was in the other room. You couldn’t see them, you might not even be able to hear them, but you knew they were there, could feel their presence like a current of energy.

It suddenly hadn’t seemed so crazy to think he was out there, although she was willing to admit it might be wishful thinking.

She was startled by the ring of her phone. Her heart beat faster as she reached for it, a response that wasn’t helped when she saw the name on the screen.

Angel Vitale.

Was Angel calling to tell her something had gone wrong? Was that how things worked in the Syndicate? Instead of uniformed officers at the door or official-sounding voices on the other end of the phone, you got a call from the wife of Nico Vitale?

“Hello."

“Abby, hi,” Angel said. She hurried to continue. “Please don’t worry. I’m just calling to check on you.”

Abby exhaled. “Thank god. I saw your name and…” She couldn’t finish the thought. It felt too much like a curse.

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy shaded Angel’s voice. “I hesitated to call for that reason, but I thought you might need a friend.”

“I could definitely use a friend,” Abby said, leaning back against the lounge chair.

“You’ve had a rough few weeks,” Angel said. “A rough few months.”

Abby sighed. “I guess so.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your dad.” Angel hesitated. “I lost mine in a similar way. It was…” Abby heard her inhale on the other end of the line. “It was hard.”

“Your father was killed?” Abby couldn’t help the morbid curiosity that sprang to life in her mind. Had the death of Angel’s father been related to the Syndicate?

“He was,” she said quietly. “And the circumstances were… difficult. It took me a long time to reconcile everything. To find some kind of peace.”

“Peace seems a long way off right now,” Abby admitted.

“And that’s fine,” Angel said firmly. “There’s no time limit on grief. It’s important to really process those feelings, I think, not to gloss over them because you feel pressured to move on.”

Abby knew all about feeling pressured to move on, had spent most of her life trying to move on. Maybe if she hadn’t — if she’d taken the time to confront her feelings about her past, to confront her father before it was too late — she would be sleeping better at night now.

“You’re right,” Abby said. “I’m really going to try and do that.”

“How are you holding up tonight?” Angel asked.

Abby swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat as she thought about Max, at this very moment on his way into the Tangier to face down Jason and his guards.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Abby said.

Angel sighed. “It’s the worst part about loving one of these men. There are so many wonderful things, but this one really sucks.”

Abby laughed in spite of herself. The words sounded almost crass coming from the woman on the other end of the phone, and Abby had to remind herself that Angel wasn’t much older than her, that according to Max, she’d been born and raised in Boston, not in the villa in Rome where she now lived with Nico.

“I take it you have more than your share of experience with it then?”

“You have no idea,” Angel said. “It’s been challenging to bring each territory under control. A lot of the men got used to operating without guidelines, and Nico has more guidelines than Raneiro had. They weren’t all happy to be brought to heel.”

Abby thought about the trouble in Vegas — Jason and Fredo and the months and months Nico had spent traveling back and forth, trying to help Max, getting shot — and multiplied it by however many times they’d done it before.

“I’m surprised you’re still sane,” Abby said.

Angel laughed softly. “Who said I’m sane?”

Abby smiled. “I trust Nico and Farrell, and even Carlos, although I don’t know him very well.”

“I notice you left Locke out.”

Abby could almost hear the grin in Angel’s voice.

“He came into the situation pretty late,” Abby said.

“He’s a good guy,” Angel said. “Unconventional, which is why he runs his own operation, but really helpful when you need an out-of-the-box thinker.”

“So I was told when Max explained how they’re zip-lining hundreds of feet above the street to get into the Tangier.”

“Oh, they’ll pretend not to like that,” Angel said, “but trust me — they’ll want to go again like kids at Disneyland.”

Abby laughed softly. “You’re probably right.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” Angel said. “And to remind you that you have a friend if you ever need to talk. Eventually you’ll get to meet Jenna and Charlotte and Isabel. In the meantime, I hope you’ll feel free to call me anytime.”

“I appreciate that. Any advice on getting through tonight?”

Angel hesitated. “When I’m scared, I try to remember how much Nico loves me. It might sound silly, because it’s not like that offers him superhuman protection.”

“Then why does it help?” Abby asked.

“Because I know Nico will do anything to get home. To get back to me.”

Abby exhaled, the tension in her body allowing for the slightest bit of hope. “Thank you.”

“Of course. When this is all over, come to Rome. I’ll stuff you full of pasta and you can sleep for days.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Abby said.

“Talk soon.”

The line went dead and Abby set down her phone and trained her eyes on the city in the distance.

Come home, Max.

Come back to me.