Where the Irish mafia run the underworld with an iron fucking fist.

Gia looks between us. “Sal?”

“I can do the stamp. But we need to get to Dublin.”

Her face falls, then hardens. She looks at Dino. “You’re going to get me some better clothes, you ingrate. Then, Sal and I, going to Dublin.”

Dino snickers.

And I roll my eyes at the two of them.

* * *

We aren’t more than a mile down the road when Gia turns to me. “Let’s go to the castle.”

Gia’s words jolt me out of my driving mode. “What?”

She points to a sign. “Look, that means castle, right?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Let’s go.”

“Gia, we need to get to the printer in Dublin… “

“Come on. We’re supposed to be tourists. Why don’t we tour a little?” she grins at me.

Damn it.

I can’t deny Gia anything.

The car protests as I turn when indicated, the road getting more and more bumpy as we follow it. Eventually, the castle emerges out of the gloomy sky.

When we park, Gia is all smiles. “Let’s go!”

I follow her meekly.

She follows all the paths, stopping at each little sign.

“Okay. I admit. This is kind of cool,” Gia says with a laugh.

“I thought you grew up in Italy?”

“Yeah but our castles are different. And I didn’t live in Italy for that long.”

“It still impresses me that Elio speaks with an accent and you don’t.”

“Admit it, De Luca,” she smirks at me. “You think I’m impressive.”

Looking at her, with the castle in the background, I smile.

I can’t help it.

“You’re goddamn right I do.”

19

GIA