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The cabin was something I’d bought with my own money. The family’s purchases tended towards the grand side of things – unless we were buying safe houses. Safe houses were in case our men were attacked and needed to hole up somewhere, like Adriano had done in Florence. With safe houses, we tended towards the low-key and unremarkable.
But my cabin was something I’d wanted for me and me alone. I went up there a couple of times a year to get away from my family. I loved them dearly… but sometimes I needed a break. To relax.
Although Lucia was 180 degrees in the opposite direction from a ‘relaxing break.’
“What do you mean, ‘stay the first night’?” she asked suspiciously. “Why not stay there for a while?”
“It’s possible my uncle or cousin knows about it. Not likely, but possible.” I had bought it three years ago while Fausto was still my father’s consigliere, and I’d told the entire family when I purchased it. It was possible Fausto or Aurelio might remember. “I think we should stay one night, then move on.”
“Why the mountains in the first place? Why not Paris?”
“For one, we shouldn’t fly or take a train. Too dangerous. And I’d like to stay close to Venice so we can get to your grandmother quickly. And finally, the mountains are remote… not many people… and we can move through the forest without being detected.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but in my mind I added, Plus there’s lots of cover if anybody starts shooting.
“Great,” she grumbled, but she didn’t bother me any more about the Dolomites.
She just bothered me about everything else.
19
About 30 minutes from our destination, she started complaining about being hungry again.
“I have food at the cabin,” I said.
“What kind of food?” she asked suspiciously.
“Canned food.”
“I want real food.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“Why not?”
“Because people would remember a tall guy in a suit and a woman in designer clothes,” I pointed out.
“So?”
“So if my cousin sends mercenaries to look for us, I would prefer people not remember where we were.”
“We stopped at a gas station.”
“We had to stop at a gas station,” I said calmly. “We needed gas – and you wanted food, remember?”
“That guy at the register will remember us.”
“That was unavoidable. And it was only 45 minutes into the trip.”
“Are we only going to eat canned food for however long we’re up here? ‘Cause I am telling you right now, that is NOT acceptable.”
I gripped the steering wheel hard and imagined it was her neck.
Her little, scrawny neck…
Zen fuckin’ master –
Zen fuckin’ master –
