“You do?” I ask, turning to him, my eyes sweeping over his very simple sweatshirt and pajama pants. Nico turns to me with a smirk, lowering the garment bag a little. “I mean, if you want we can let Frankie pick –“ “Nope!” I say, grabbing my coffee and hurrying to his side. “Which shoes am I brin
But Christian just laughs, turning to glance at me over his shoulder as Nico pulls out of the garage. “Don’t listen to him,” he murmurs, “I put the cash in a bank account for you, Iris, obviously. It will all be waiting for you, with interest, whenever you’re ready to spend it.” “Oh,” I say, my ey
“Can I please have a little more specific advice?” I beg, anxious now as I feel Nico start to slow the car. Christian nods, understanding. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, and if you do, always tell the truth. But don’t tell too much truth – just as much as you need to satisfy the questions.
My breath starts to come fast as we walk up the stone steps to the mafia mansion. And not because I’m winded – I’m pretty fit, actually, what with all of the dancing. But the tension that builds in me – god, who the hell lives in a place like this? What control of wealth do they have, to be able
I step forward, not saying anything else to her, and Giana turns to watch me go. To my surprise, though, before we can make it very far down the hall two kids come streaking out of a door, their clothes unkept and their attitudes worse. “Mooooom!” the little girl screeches, and I turn to watch her
I come to a stop before him, tucking my hands behind my back, standing about a food behind Christian, who doesn’t look back at me. “She hasn’t given you an ounce of trouble, dad,” Christian sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Honestly, this whole thing is ridi
“Well!?” he shouts, making me jump. And, unraveled as I am by the sheer power and terror of this man, I fall back on what Christian told me to say: the truth. “Um,” I say, glancing at Christian again and then giving a hesitant little shrug. “I guess he just…likes me.” Don Romano studies me for
“Steven,” I whisper, my hand immediately going to my mouth. Because even though his head is covered in some kind of potato sack, I know that’s him being hauled in with his hands tied behind his back, stumbling over the shoes I bought him for Christmas. Christian is instantly in action, stepping in