My sister’s boyfriend glances down at her before looking at my mom, then me. He appears in two minds whether he should say what he’s thinking, but he goes for it.
“My family is from Essen in the West. We’ve owned a major commercial construction firm for three generations. It means we’ve created strong business ties to many different groups in our community, employing workers from all different ethnic backgrounds.”
My brow furrows as I wonder what he’s getting at. I shift my focus to Jorge, but he doesn’t appear perplexed like I am, just the opposite. He seems to already know where this is going.
“Friedrich?” It’s my sister who asks for an explanation with just one word.
“We have connections to the Camorra.”
“As in the mafia? Friedrich, how do you know anybody in organized crime?”
Heidi sounds doubtful, but considering what we’ve learned about our family in the past two days—and what I’m certain she’s guessed about Jorge’s—it seems like a bit of an asinine question at this point.
I don’t know much about the Neapolitan mafia beyond the organization’s name, and that nobody wants to tangle with them.
“Do you remember Maximilian?”
“You mean your best friend growing up? Yeah, of course.”
“His father heads the Camorra in Essen. My high school girlfriend’s uncle and father are also high-ranking members.”
Heidi’s surprise registers across her expressive face, but Friedrich shifts his attention to Jorge.
“Like I’ve said, I can get the money quickly if we need it.”
I wait for Jorge’s reply as he studies the man who’s likely to be my future brother-in-law. He offers an appreciative smile but shakes his head.
“I knew all of that about your family already. My brother dug deeper into your family’s background after you made the offer the first time. For now, I’d prefer we not use those connectionsuntil I can learn whether they have any ties to Salvatore Mancinelli. The Mancinellis may beCosa Nostra, but they’ll still pick an Italian organized crime family over mine. I need to be sure involving your connections doesn’t wind up playing into Salvatore’s hand and giving him more information than he needs, whether he’s connected to this or not. I’d rather the four of you go to my mother’s friend and stay with her and her husband until my family can sort out a better solution.”
When the woman arrived, I was unprepared for a Moroccan. Jorge’s mother met Noor Idrissi while going to college in California. There was something familiar about her, but I still haven’t put my finger on it.
“Jorge, I don’t want to endanger anybody else. Isn’t there somewhere else we can go that doesn’t draw more people into this?”
“Noor is married to Hisham Azizi.”
I take a step back, unprepared for Jorge to name one of the wealthiest financiers in Frankfurt who’s known for ties to Moroccan organized crime. There’re always whispers he’s some type of crime lord disguised by his refined custom-tailored suits. I’ve met him a couple of times, and I’ve always been slightly awed by his entire aura.
He’s not flashy.
He’s not menacing.
He’s just there. He fills whatever room he’s in with charisma.
It’s no surprise so many people accept his investments or want to work with him. There’s a sophisticated nuance to him. The kind where I’d trust him with my millions, but I’m not sure if I’d trust him to buy me a drink or trust him not to put a bullet through someone’s heart.
“Will you go there with us, Jorge?”
“No. I’ll see you settled there, but it’s best if I remain here. That way I can visit if I need to, but I can also meet with mybrothers or cousins when they arrive. I can’t be seen coming and going from their home too frequently. My mother and Noor have been photographed together many times over the years at various events. I’m certain plenty of international law enforcement agencies have photos on file of Noor and Hisham vacationing with us, but that doesn’t mean I need to raise any red flags that will draw attention to you. They can get you into their house discreetly.”
I hate the idea of him leaving me. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth as I consider the approaching evening. The sun won’t set for a few more hours, but just the thought of the unknown out there in the dark and being out of Jorge’s reach terrifies me. I feel heat rising along my neck as bile burns the back of my throat and makes my gums sting. It suddenly feels far too hot in here. When I swipe my hand across my forehead, I feel the sweat.
Invisible weights press on me from every direction, and the air is becoming too thick for me to breathe. No matter how deeply I try to inhale, there doesn’t seem to be enough air to fill my lungs. I’m growing lightheaded and reach out to hold the dining room table to brace myself.
Jorge’s arm slides around my waist. “Chica.”
I don’t know if he’s whispering or speaking at a regular volume, but his voice sounds distant and soft even though he’s right beside me. I offer a shaky nod, but panic wells in my chest, spreading out behind my ribs, creating a burn that makes me want to rub my fist over my sternum. My ears are ringing. My vision’s tunneling to a narrow focus right before my eyes.
“Chica.”
