I don’t know what to say to her, so I turn to Enzo. "He won't try to leave America just yet. This gives us about two weeks."
Enzo is still in shock.
"How did he even pull it off?" he whispers.
"He must have made friends with the right people," I say. "He's good at that."
"What was he in prison for?" Grace asks.
"That doesn't concern you," Enzo snaps.
"Watch your tone when you speak to my woman," I growl at him.
Grace moves closer toward me. "I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for, little bird," I say, raising my eyebrows at Enzo.
"Are you serious right now?” he asks.
“I’ll be in my bedroom,” Grace says softly.
I stare Enzo down. He rolls his eyes and mutters a half-hearted apology to Grace. Her cheeks turn red before she walks to her bedroom and closes the door behind her.
"What the fuck, man?" Enzo says. "You can't be serious. You met that girl like a week ago.”
"You misdirected your anger at her," I say. "Make sure it doesn't happen again."
He shakes his head in disbelief, but otherwise keeps his opinions to himself.
The TV catches our attention again. We watch the news until the reporter moves on to a different topic.
I take a deep breath. The air still smells like cinnamon and happiness. It's funny how life can change so fast.
"I can't believe this is actually happening," Enzo says. "He must have been planning it for months, if not years."
"I always knew it was a possibility, but I really thought we would have more time.” I sigh.
In my Don's absence, I was given autonomy. Even though he was still making all the big decisions and telling me what to do, I was still able to do things that were independent of what he wanted. I had time to focus on what was important to me.
The image of my Don is burned into the back of my mind.
The locals call himBarbablù, Italian for “Bluebeard.” For as long as I've known him, he had an inky-black beard that appeared dark blue in certain lighting. He had also been married six times. All six of his wives had disappeared. Nobody knows what happened to them, but everyone suspects that he had something to do with their disappearance.
And so they started calling him Bluebeard, after the fictional character who also had skeletons in his closet.
“Are you certain we have time?” Enzo asks.
“I can’t say for sure, but he’ll likely keep a low profile for a while,” I say. “Crossing international waters is risky.”
He nods and turns off the TV.
I feel like I have the weight of the entire world on my shoulders. It’s a pressure I’m not sure I can handle, but I need to do my best.
“We have to pause all of our investigations,” Enzo says.
“Or we could speed them up,” I say.
“There’s not enough time, Dante,” he says.
