Page 53 of Jig's Last Dance

“He said, she said—”

“Who’s she?” His sharp eyes bore into mine. I can’t tell if he’s displeased, which only makes the panic in my chest greater.

“Iris, his stepdaughter. She said they were stolen by, um, the guy at McCafferty’s the other night.”

He cocks his head, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me about that boy.”

“Boy?” I’m buying myself time. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to shield Jig. It’s stupid since he’s probably tattled about me to McCafferty by now.

“The one who practically challenged me. What’s his name?”

With a dirty look, I respond. This is a test. He knows Jig’s name. “Jig.”

“Yes, him. His father is McCafferty’s lawyer,” he muses, his eyes shining.

See? Dick.

“Okay . . .” I shift beside him, a kernel of dread suffusing my bones. Sal’s interest can’t be good for any of us.

“You went to his home?”

Fucking Marco.

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“He had no idea what I was talking about. But Bastion said my dad put his dad in prison. Is that true?”

Sal waves his hand. “Probably. What else?”

With a tingle of annoyance, I mutter, “Nothing. They were suspicious and accused me of spying for you.”

His mouth curves. “Hm. Where did those keys come from?”

“I don’t know. If they died in an accident, why would he have the keys?”

Sal doesn’t answer, his eyes focused over my head, and after a moment, I say, “Uncle Sal?”

“Yes, bambina?”

“Was it an accident?” The words are slushy on my tongue, and I want to take them back the moment they leave my mouth.

Sal stands, turning away, and I shiver. Is he avoiding my gaze?

“Your parents were run off the road.”

“So, it wasn’t an accident.” Having my suspicions confirmed doesn’t make me feel better. As a matter of fact, the truth fucking burns.

Who stole them from me? Why?

His shoulders stiffen. He turns his head to the wall. “No, bambina. Your father was shot in the head.”

Oh, fuck me. No!

“Mom?” I whisper, clenching my hands.

He bows his head, and tears fill my eyes. “She died on impact.”

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