"Your mother?" I ask, my eyes flicking between hers.
“I can’t leave Sarah on her own,” she pleads.
I place her inside the car.
"We're leaving," I say. "Your friend will be fine."
"You don't understand," she says, squeezing my wrist. Her brown eyes are now shimmering with unshed tears.
I almost never second-guess myself, but nothing about today makes sense.
I glance back at my men.
“Bring the other girl to the villa in a separate car,” I say.
Grace blinks at me. "Thank you."
My response caught her off guard. Well, that makes two of us.
8
GRACE
The car partition is drawn up.
It's just him and me in an enclosed space now.
My ears are still ringing from the sound of the gunshots. I'm certain that if it weren't for this man, I would have taken one of the bullets today.
"What's your name?" I ask him.
"Dante," he says. "Dante Mancini."
The name is unfamiliar to me. But I have a feeling I know exactly who he is.
"What do you do for a living?" I ask.
"I have a couple of businesses," he answers vaguely.
I study him for a moment. He has an Italian accent when he speaks, but I could've sworn that I heard another accent bleeding through when the bullets were fired.
"What kind of businesses?" I probe.
He studies my face like an artist looking at their muse.
"What is it that you really want to ask me, Grace?"
"You're in the mafia, aren't you?"
He levels me with a stare. He says everything by not saying anything.
"You said that your mother wants you dead," he says. "Explain."
All of a sudden, there's a lump in my throat. I can barely breathe around it.
"There's not much to explain," I whisper. "We just don't get along."
"There's not getting along, and then there's wanting your own blood and flesh killed," he says.
