She hurled it into the wall, showering the floor with glass shards. The destruction felt good, but she still burned with fury.As a maid rushed over to sweep up the remains of the vase, Cavano stomped through the living room and onto the terrace overlooking the sea. Her cousin Salvatore followed her. He wasn’t too bright, which Cavano liked, but he was efficient and provided the necessary brawn. He’d been a faithful servant since her husband died. “Quell’idiòta, Pietro!” Cavano yelled, kicking one of the chairs over. “If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him,” she continued in Italian. “Locke will pay. I’ll make sure of it.”“Do you realize what yesterday cost me? The wrecked Lamborghini and the repairs to the Ferrari will cost over three hundred thousand euros, not to mention the destroyed BMW and the Zonda I had to buy.” “And we lost three men.” “Yes, of course. Three more families to feed.” The Cavanos looked after their own, especially when soldiers died.
