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Trey rolls his eyes. "You're not subtle in your subterfuge."
"I'm not going to pull anything sneaky," Derek says coldly. "I respect the vote. I might disagree with it, but I respect it."
Marco shares a glance with Heratio, then he nods. "Let's send a photo of the contract to the lawyer. I'll call Mom."
"I can call her," Derek says more firmly.
"No. It has to be me." There's pain in Marco's eyes. I grab his hand, getting his attention. "Filia?" he asks.
Standing on tip-toe, I whisper into his ear, "Why do you look so uncomfortable? Isn't this good news, won't your mom be happy?"
He turns away. "Of course." Hunching his shoulders he walks away from the table. He slips out some papers from inside his jacket, setting them on an empty table away from the crowd. His camera flashes brightly. He taps his phone, focusing as he sends a message I can't read from so far away. But I guess he's sending the photo of the signed contract to the family lawyer, like he said he would.
"Here," Heratio says, passing me a glass. The champagne has arrived and he's poured some for me.
I accept the drink and smile serenely. "Thanks."
His smile twitches and he taps his glass to mine. "No hard feelings about me voting for Derek, I hope."
"None," I say sweetly.
He keeps smiling, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. "My gut is trained to make business decisions."
"It's really fine. You just did what you thought was best. It worked out."
"Yeah," he says, his voice dry. His smile is gone; he takes a drink. "Guess the worst case is Marco just creates more work for me. I do like to stay busy."
Before I can reply there's a blaring of lights and horns outside the bar. The people around us all talk in loud, curious tones. Trey squints, gesturing with his beer. "The cops are here. Derek, what did you do?"
"What the hell? Nothing!" he scoffs.
Two men and two women shove through the front door. The patrons back away to create plenty of space as the uniformed group scans the bar. I study them curiously––their dark blue outfits are emblazoned with the wordspolizia localeand there are tiny shields in the green, white, red stripe of the Italian flag.
One of the women, not much older than me with dark brown hair curling wildly from under her cap, catches me staring. I smile apologetically. In response she narrows her eyes, pointing. "There!"
I stiffen on the spot. "Um. Why are they looking at me?"
"You. Come here." She steps forward, her gaze piercing mine. "Show me your passport."
Marco, noticing the confrontation, rushes to intervene. "What's wrong here?" he demands.
The rest of the police move to separate me from the brothers. Marco's whole face gleams red; he's about to explode. "Whoa, bro, calm down!" Nathan says, gripping his shoulder.
"Yeah, this is some mix-up," Trey adds.
Derek and Heratio watch me suspiciously. I put on my bravest smile, facing the police-woman. "I have a passport, yes. Here." Showing it to her, I say, "I'm from the States."
Squinting at the passport, she frowns deeply. "So it's true, you're her. You must come with us."
My heart is racing, making my palms sweat from my panic. I've never had trouble with any kind of authority, never mind one in a foreign country. "What did I do?"
Grabbing my elbow, she starts pulling me towards the exit. "The embassy will explain. My job is taking you there."
"She's not going anywhere!" Marco roars.
Derek jumps between us, holding up his hands and blocking the police-woman. "Wait a second! What is this about?"
The woman looks at Derek incredulously. "What is your connection to this girl?" Her chin juts out. "Did you and your group kidnap her?"
