Page 82 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

And there was a very good chance that Uncle Chuck was with my father somewhere, working on this case.

What was my next move?

Where did I go when everyone I had to rely on was missing?

But, this wasn’t everyone, was it?

There was still one person left I knew would protect me, who had protected me before, would do so again if I was in need.

Regardless of how he’d left town without another word.

I had no purse, no money, no IDs.

If I got pulled over, I was in big trouble.

But I couldn’t seem to make myself give a shit.

All I could think about was him.

So I turned my car in the direction of Navesink Bank.

I was going to ask August again for help.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

August

I woke up the morning after leaving Traveler in the care of her father to find my mother already in my kitchen.

Coffee was fresh.

The sweet scent of pancakes mingled with the more hearty scents of eggs and sausage.

And she was already hard at work at some sort of pasta-based meal. Knowing my mom, likely more than one. To have in my fridge or freezer while I “settle back in.”

“There’s my boy,” my mom greeted me when she sensed my presence, turning with her arms raised, and a lifetime told me I was meant to approach her, so she could frame my face, then slap my cheeks a little hard, then kiss each of them. “Oh, no,” she said before her hands even touched me. “Are you sick? Did you pick something up on your trip?” she asked. “You have no color. Foreign food will do that,” she went on, as if I’d been out of the country, not an hour away. “You don’t have a fever,” she concluded after pulling me down toward her, so she could press her lips to my forehead.

She didn’t trust her hands for telling temperatures.

Giulia Grassi did things her own way.

Including breaking into her sons’ homes to fuss over them.

“I’m fine, Ma,” I assured her. “Just a little beat,” I said, making my way toward the coffee machine.

“It’s hard to sleep well when you’re not in your own bed,” she said. “Are you home for good now? We need to do your birthday.”

I heard the hint of hurt in her voice at that.

“I’m sorry I missed it, Ma,” I told her. “I did get a birthday cake, though. Baked just for me.”

Her curiosity clearly piqued, she turned, dark brows raised. “Really? How was that? I thought you were away on business.”

“Not really, actually,” I said. I knew I really needed to talk to Luca first about this whole situation, but even Luca would understand how the women of the family could drag information out of us purely out of guilt. Or a practiced look of curiosity.

“No?” she asked, pretending not to be interested as she mixed something on the stove.

“It was a favor for a friend,” I told her. “You know Mass and Cammie’s story, right?”

---