chiara
I didn’t even want to go on this stupid fucking mission. Dad had tried to make it seem like it was supposed to be important. Get the rest of the money from the cartel and hide it somewhere. But it wasn’t that much money—at least not as much as last time—and my guard was here, watching my every fucking move.
We sat in the car in the same place we had been last time, and I stared through the windshield at the empty garage, waiting for the cartel to finally show up. The time on the car read 12:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes until they were supposed to be here.
I wrapped my hand around the steering wheel and blew out a deep breath. I had texted Alessandro three times today, asking where he kept all his shit in his house, but I really wanted to know if everything was all right and when he’d be back.
I didn’t know why I had this little obsession with him. I didn’t want to be involved with another mafia man. I wanted something simple and easy outside this family. Someone to go out on dates with, someone I didn’t have to keep my shit together with, someone I could love.
But … something drew me to him.
He hadn’t gotten back to me all day, and I didn’t know if something was wrong. Maybe I was too overbearing. We weren’t in a relationship. He’d said that he didn’t want one with me. But he cared at least.
What if something was wrong? What if something had happened in New Jersey last night? What if the Sicilian Mafia had found him and was bringing him back to Italy and I never saw him again?
My chest tightened. I didn’t want to never see him again. I wanted to see him now, hear from him now. I wanted something to tell me that he was okay.
Yes, I was falling for him even though he got on my every last nerve.
It was hard to admit, but here I was, admitting it to myself.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out quickly, hoping it was him. Dad’s name glared on the screen. He never called this late.
I took a deep breath and tried hard not to sound pissed off when I answered it. “Hello?”
“Chiara, are you at the meetup point?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“What’s wrong?”
I clenched my fist. “Why don’t you believe in me?”
He paused for a long time. “I do believe in you, Chiara.”
“So, what’s your reason for calling?” I asked, watching the road to see if any cars were approaching. But there were none. “Why’re you calling me in the middle of a job?”
“I’ve been thinking of your mother lately,” he said.
I listened to some glasses click on the other side of the phone, and I knew he was drinking. He always drank when he thought about her.
My heart sank at the mention of her name, and I glanced down at the steering wheel. Mom. I missed Mom too.
He paused for a second. “Know that I love you.”
I curled my lips into a frown. “I love you too.”
His voice sounded gruff. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Then, there was more clinking of glass and some shuffling, and then the phone went dead. Something inside of me didn’t sit right. I stared down at the phone and frowned even more. He never called me like that, never said he loved me and sounded like he meant it.
A car raced down the street, and I pushed my phone into my pocket. They were here.
Whatever it meant, it would have to wait.
The car pulled up in front of us, and I squinted at it. Two cars, a handful of men at the most. It wasn’t anything like what I’d experienced last time. Last time, there had been at least five cars with so many more guards. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
I stared through the glass, and my eyes widened. There wasn’t just anyone in the other car.
It was Tommy.