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“It’s Lucia, asshole. And LET GO OF – ”
“Your grandmother was attacked.”
Suddenly the entire world buckled beneath my feet.
My insides turned cold and I felt like I might throw up.
For a split second, I was six years old again in the back of the car, my ears ringing from the sound of the crash –
“Is she… is she okay?” I croaked. It was difficult to speak.
He finally removed his hand from my shoulder. I guess I looked like I wouldn’t run off.
“Yes, she’s fine – but we’re worried someone might come after you. Her men called you and texted you – ”
‘Her men’?
Nobody who worked for Nona talked like that. It was always ‘we.’
I narrowed my eyes as he continued talking.
“ – but you didn’t answer, so – ”
“Who are you again?” I snapped.
“As I said, my name is Massimo Rosolini – ”
“Yeah, I got that part, dumbass. But you don’t work for my grandmother.”
If he did, I would have remembered him for sure.
“No,” he said with forced patience, “I live in Tuscany, outside Florence – ”
Florence –
Rosolini –
Everything clicked into place.
No wonder the name had sounded familiar.
I did my best to ignore all the mafia bullshit flying around my life, but it’s not like I could completely escape it. For one, the story had been all over the news last month – not to mention it was all Silvio, Nona’s consigliere, could talk about whenever I came home.
“You’re the assholes who whacked the Agrellas!” I yelled.
About 20 students all around looked over in surprise.
The big guy’s eyes widened comically. He glanced over his shoulder like he was afraid what a bunch of normies would think.
Maybe it was different in Tuscany, but in Venice, all the locals knew who the Widow was – and everybody in school knew I was her granddaughter. Sometimes I could hear them whispering about it behind my back.
“We did not kill the Agrellas,” he hissed angrily. “I came to explain to your grandmother – ”
“Oh – the same day she got attacked?! What a fuckin’ coincidence!” I spat. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
I yelled that last part loud enough that some of the male students were starting to gather around, wondering if they should intervene.
There was the sound of leather-soled shoes slapping on the marble floor.
