Page 85 of Skin Deep

“You have me on speaker?”

“Sì,” she said.

“Harrison?”

“What’s going on, Lach?”

“A lot of fucked up shit, Harrison. A lot of fucked up shit. You keepin’ up?”

“Yeah,” I said, swerving around another car to keep close to Declan. “But the cops might stop us.”

We were going as fast as we could in New York. Weaving in and out of lanes, speeding around slower cars when we weren’t hitting traffic.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Better to discuss it in person.” Lach sighed into the phone.

“Where’s Owen?” I said, realizing I hadn’t heard anything from him.

“Getting put back together by Dr. Tito.”

“Lach,” I said, and Georgina made a breathless noise. I realized I was squeezing her thigh too tight.

“He’s going to be all right,” Lach said. “Just banged up.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough to need Dr. Tito but not bad enough to have a long stay.”

I could feel Georgina’s eyes on my face. She reached over and grabbed my hand, holding it tightly in hers, as we ended the conversation. We needed to be wherever we were going already. I needed answers. I needed to protect my family.

“He will be okay,” she whispered. “Uncle Tito has this.”

It was the only reason why I wasn’t forcing Lach to tell me where Owen was and go there instead. I had trust in Tito Sala. I liked him as much as I liked Pasquale Ranieri. I automatically trusted them both.

“I know you put it together,” I said, my thoughts shifting suddenly. “About why I started looking past skin to find depth. My high school—”

“I know, Harrison,” she said gently. “I have scars, too.”

Fighting to find out what truly existed underneath her surface had caused me to discover so much more than I was expecting to find.

Her eyes glanced in the rearview. She stuck her hand in the bag she’d brought and pulled out the gun, keeping the barrel down, tucked to her side. She was wily. And I almost laughed at how I didn’t see it before. The similarities between her and Macchiavello. Or Amadeo, as she called him.

“See something?” I said, checking mine, too. I was paranoid because of the last time the Craigs had sent someone to ram my car as a warning. Georgina sitting next to me, and Gus in the backseat, upped the cost of this war.

“I was not sure,” she said. “I was watching a car. It turned off, though.” She lifted the gun some. “It is best to be prepared. Just drive. I have your back.”

Her eyes checked the mirrors the entire time we drove, which was close to two hours. The further along the coast we went, the less traffic and city lights, and the stronger the scent of sea water. The wind had picked up off the coast, and it was pulling at the tires of the car.

“Where are we?” Georgina said, narrowing her eyes as she looked out the window.

The night had grown soft; the sun was about to break through. It wouldn’t touch the day or the weather, though. I had a feeling it was going to be cloudy, and the air was going to be even colder from the gales whipping off the water.

“Long Island,” I said.

“It feels colder here,” she said. “The air feels—damp?”

“Reminds me of Ireland and Scotland,” I said. “The temperatures.”

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