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Tension bleeds from my body and suddenly I'm able to turn my head.
Don De Luca crouches beside the open door, his expression unreadable. "You can let go of the gun now. You and your sister are safe."
"Is he dead?" I ask.
He knows who I mean. I can see it in the don's expression. Don De Luca's lips thin, like he doesn't want to answer, but he says, "Yes."
"I didn't mean to kill him," I admit. "I had to stop him though."
Will the don think I am weak? His men would not have hesitated to kill the masked man. But I am not a made man.
"You did well," he says again.
"I did?"
"You did."
My fingers, curled so tightly around the gun, relax.
"That's good, Catalina."
The approval in his tone allows me to release my frozen hold on the gun. It falls, thunking against a large piece of glass that rests on the carpeted area behind the headrests.
A big warm hand curls around my upper arm. "Come here, Catalina."
That touch breaks through the last of my paralysis and I turn to surge toward the don. He guides me out of the car. "Are you alright?" he asks.
I stare up at him, unable to make my dry mouth form words, but I nod.
"You have glass in your hair, can I brush it out?"
I nod again.
He does it with gentle movements. "We have to go. We don't want to be here when the cops arrive."
I force a word out, "Carlotta?"
"Your father is taking care of her." There's a strange quality to the don's tone. I don't know what it means.
"We can't leave, can we? I shot someone. The police will want my statement."
"There will be no statements."
I look around and realize that the bodies are either gone or being carried toward the SUVs that arrived with my father and the don. The mafia Soldiers are efficient and fast. I realize that if the cops do come, there will be nothing for them to find.
I follow the don toward a black Porsche Cayenne with tinted windows. I know the make because my father was angry when the don bought it because it cost more than his Mercedes Maybach. It's armored and has bullet proof tires. Papà insisted on getting them on his own SUV as soon as he learned the don had gotten them on his Cayenne.
My father is both competitive and vain. I notice his SUV is nowhere to be seen. He and Carlotta are already gone. He left me. It's not unexpected, but it sucks. Even when my life has been threatened, my father can't find a modicum of concern for his oldest daughter. Well, I guess he did tell Marcus to bring me back to the house.
I find myself sitting next to the don in the back of his SUV, his driver and a guard are in the front.
"Where's Marcus?"
"In the SUV in front of us."
I recognize it. It's one of my father's. Another SUV pulls out behind us.
It's weird, the way the don is taking care of me. Does he feel responsible for me because I am his fiancée's sister or because I'm his consigliere'sdaughter? I know it's not personal. It can't be. I'm nothing to him.
