Page 91 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“I can’t convince you to stay here, can I?” he asked, seeming resigned, even if I knew he wished I would stay.

“No,” I said, rubbing his bar of soap between my hands to create a lather before scrubbing my feet with them. “You won’t even know who to call, or where to look, or… anything,” I said.

“I hate that you’re right about that,” he admitted as I rinsed the soap, then accepted the towel he handed to me to dry off before I stepped out.

I moved toward the vanity, catching sight of myself for the first time, almost jerking back at first.

The bruises were setting in on my face, purple and blue with yellow around the edges. But that was nothing compared to the bruises on my throat. My hair was mostly out of the ponytail, and I reached instinctively to fix it, even though it didn’t do much to improve my overall appearance.

I looked like I’d been beaten up.

I had.

There was no reason to worry too much about that. Not with my father and uncles in the wind.

And, of course, my attacker.

I slipped on the flats, then looked at August.

“Let’s go. So much time has already passed. Has my father responded?”

“No,” he said, voice soft as he broke the news that, well, couldn’t be good. Right?

It had likely been another hour since I called, give or take. Even if he was busy, wouldn’t he be checking his phone for possible leads or whatever? He’d have seen my texts and voicemail if he had.

“Hey, don’t get too up in your head about all of this right now,” August demanded, pressing a hand into my lower back as we moved into the living room. “We don’t know what we are going to be walking into. Maybe nothing,” he added, but he didn’t sound too convinced of that.

The churning feeling in my stomach said that there was more to this than we could know, that there was no way we would go back to my town, and find that my father had somehow put things to rights while I was in Navesink Bank.

“We heading out?” Milo asked as he held the door open for Lettie to leave, carrying a cookie sheet holding the hot, possibly burnt, lasagne with her.

“Yep,” August said.

“Ah, what about my uncle’s car?” I asked.

“We’ll drive that down,” August told me as we all filed out.

Aurelio and August went automatically toward the stairs, leaving Milo to catch up with a furrowed brow.

“Listen, if you told me it wasthiscar, I would have insisted on driving it back,” Milo said, shaking his head. “What does this go for? One-fifty? More?” he asked, clucking his tongue as he climbed into Aurelio’s car with him.

August was eyeing the car with a strange look in his eye as he held open my door, then climbed in with me.

“What?” I asked as we started to drive.

“Milo is right. This car is expensive as fuck.”

“Oh, ah, yeah. I’ve… I’ve never doubted that Stan is on the take. He lives lavishly like my father.”

“Right,” August agreed, but he seemed distracted and restless as we drove in silence back toward my town.

The drive there felt twice as long as the one to Navesink Bank, back when I was running on fear and adrenaline, and likely a healthy dollop of shock.

This ride felt torturous, with my brain bouncing from one terrible outcome to another, each more gory and horrific than the last.

I was momentarily saved from my thoughts as August handed me his phone, and told me to call Milo, and put it on speaker.

“Yo,” Milo answered.

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