Page 19 of His Passerotta

Probably not. This is Las Vegas, after all, and even on the nice side of town, people aren’t entirely stupid. Then again … tourists.

“Now,” Anthony growls, startling me from my thoughts again.

I carefully open the trunk, fear shooting through me at the possibility of something already being in there, like another body. I’m not sure if it’s rational or not. It occurs to me again that I don’t know Anthony. I’ve acted like I do, but everything I know is speculation, my own idealized version of him I conjured up in my head. Some of it is pure imagination. I have an idea of who he is, but it’s no more or less predictable than a dating profile.

Before his impatience can grow, I climb into the trunk and flinch when it slams shut, darkness swallowing me up.

My lungs shrink like the cramped space is suffocating me, but it’s really the unknown that’s making it difficult to breathe.

Will he kill me?

Will he let me go?

Something worse? Something more … Finn-like?

The car starts up, and we pull away, my life hanging in the balance of whatever destination Anthony chooses.

Do I know this man at all?

4

ANTHONY

The lion statues outside Lorenzo’s hotel come into view, and I glance in the rearview, my eyes finding the trunk. The girl hasn’t made a sound since we pulled away from the restaurant.

It’s unusual. Kidnapping isn’t exactly my area of expertise within the familia, but I’ve had enough people in the trunk of a car to say that silence isn’t the norm. There’s almost always kicking, screaming, begging. I took side streets just waiting for it, ready to pull over to shut her up, but it was in vain.

Nothing about this girl is typical. Nothing makes sense.

First of all, how does she know my name?

Today, in the car, I have no memory of introducing myself to Bailey, and yet, she knows my name. She claims to work for me and never mentioned it while we were together. She broke into my restaurant, picked the lock like a pro.

I don’t know who she is, but it couldn’t be more obvious to me that not all, if any, of these things are coincidences.

Did she follow me to the gas station?

Was she baiting me when she mentioned Freddy’s?

If she wanted intel on me, why didn’t I pick up on it? I’ve been going through our conversation bit by bit, searching for something that could give me a clue as to what her motives are, but all I can think of is her asking about the resumes tucked beside her seat. That seems hardly suspicious.

If she hadn’t picked the lock to get inside, I’d be questioning if there was much more to her at all, despite everything else. The girl seems like a mess.

What harm could she possibly do?

I approach the turn for the casino parking lot but don’t slow down, instead driving past with no destination in mind. I think a part of me knew I wouldn’t go through with dropping her off, right thing to do or not. If I did, I would have to face Lorenzo’s judgment, questioning how I could be so oblivious. If she was a cop or reporter or something and I didn’t pick up on that… I’d never be able to live that down.

Besides, I should be able to take care of this myself, prove that I’m capable of everything my brothers think that I’m not. If I can’t take care of a clumsy, foolish girl, what good am I?

My stomach twists when I realize what I’ll have to do after I figure out who she is and what she wants.

I’ll have to kill her.

Of course I’ll have to kill her.

What else is there to do? Let the witness of a criminal meeting—and now a victim of a kidnapping—go?

That would be soft. Stupid, even.

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