Page 85 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
“He took you to Europe for a dream vacation.”
“I can call them?”
He shrugs. “Call, FaceTime.”
I seize the device before he can change his mind, and pull up the app.
“Be mindful with what you say. Capisci?”
“Yes,” I immediately reply. “Thank you.”
“You will. Repeatedly.”
Excitement licks up my spine. At his wicked promise? At the prospect of finally speaking with my grandparents? Or both?
With shaky hands, I enter their number.
“Wait.”
He hoists me off the sofa, and then zips me up, grunting as he tucks my breasts beneath the material.
I press call, and seconds later, Mema’s face appears.
“Riley?”
“Hi, Mema,” I croak. God, how I miss them.
“George,” she hollers. “Put the paper down and get over here. It’s Riley.”
“Riley?” he says in the background.
Guilt rolls over me. While in New York, I should have called more often. But I shut down after the Tragedy. A burden of hurt silencing me.
“Thank God you’re safe,” PopPop exclaims, his anxious face appearing next to Mema’s.
“I’m fine. And so, so sorry to have worried you.”
“You running off like that? We were about ready to call the police.”
The blood drains from my face as I glance at Alessandro, who has returned to his seat but is listening intently. “But you didn’t, right?”
“We were about to until Emily called.”
Hard to miss his flattening lips. “You spoke with her?”
“A few days ago.”
She’s alive. He upheld our arrangement?
He shrugs at my unspoken question, but then I turn my attention to my grandparents.
“Listen, honeybunch. If you’re in trouble…” PopPop, always the fixer, begins.
“We raised you better than this,” Mema interrupts more harshly. “How could you, Riley?”
Their disappointment could fill a stadium.
“I’m sorry you were worried.” I struggle for an excuse. “I lost my bag with my passport, cell phone, and wallet. I’d never willingly cause you such worry.”
