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"I'm assuming you are too, but you're not threatening me."
"Did you forget I was the one to strong-arm you out of the container maze and into the car?" he asked.
"But that was before."
"Make no mistake, baby, when it comes to this family, when we have orders, we follow through with them. Even if we don't agree with them. Even if we don't like them. Even if it means we hurt someone we are beginning to like. That's how it works. Family over everything."
"Family over your own moral code?" I asked, taking the syrup he passed to me.
"Yes."
"I don't understand that," I admitted, shaking my head. I didn't think it would matter what my family wanted; I couldn't hurt someone just because I was told to.
"This life isn't for everyone, Romy."
"But then what does that say about the ones that it is for? That you're heartless? That you have no guts to stand up to unfair authority?"
"It means there is an oath. It means there is a chain of command."
"Even the president has to answer to others if they feel his actions are unjust."
"This isn't a democracy, babe."
"I don't like that." I felt safe admitting that to Lucky.
"You don't have to. But it is a good thing to keep in mind."
Now, it wasn't as blatant as Matteo's, but there was no mistaking that those words were a threat as well.
No one here trusted me.
I couldn't help but wonder as I ate, what would happen to me if they didn't find the proof of my claims in whatever allotted time frame they had come up with. Would they torture me for a truth they thought was in me that didn't exist? Would they kill me for wasting their time?
Clearly, Matteo and Lucky would be willing to carry out those orders if they were passed down.
Those orders wouldn't necessarily come from Luca, and there was a small bit of solace in that, but I didn't know Mr. Grassi. I didn't know if he was more like his elder son, or his younger one. I
I imagined to rise to a position of such power in the criminal world, and to command soldiers as ruthless and unquestioning as his, he had to be a fearsome man.
I believed in the story that was told to me, the one that I had then given to them.
But if they weren't patient enough for there to be evidence of my words, the consequences could be the swift and heartless sort.
Even as I washed the dishes, pretending to carry on a conversation with Lucky while I barely paid any attention, I realized what had to happen.
I had to go.
I had to get away.
How, I didn't know.
But I couldn't sit here and wait for the boss to sign my death warrant.
And then have one of these men I had genuinely started to like track me down, drag me somewhere, and execute me.
"You alright? You look a little pale."
"I'm getting a migraine," I told him, wincing for effect. I'd never suffered from a migraine in my life. I really never even got headaches. But I needed some time. Alone. I needed to think.
