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"I'm not your enemy," I tell him, evading that question, because he wouldn't like my answer to it. I'm not joining.

"You're not my friend either," he says, "not if you turn your back on us."

Silence permeates the room then. Guards stand in the corners of the space, falling into the darkened shadows, watching, waiting, protecting the man they swore themselves to, a man I'm very clearly pissing off by refusing to join them. But that just wasn't me, despite what they all might've thought. I wasn't made to be a street soldier. I wasn't built to follow orders. I'm not afraid of a man with a gun. Giuseppe Vitale's blood pumps through my veins. As much as the man might hate it, that's an undeniable fact. There's nothing coded in my DNA that makes me a passive pushover… nothing that makes me one of his brainwashed monkeys.

"I knew him," I say.

Genova stares at me. "Who?"

"Scar." I stare back at the man, waiting for a reaction, to see if he knew that. His expression remains blank. I'm not sure if he's just that damn good at wearing a mask to hide his surprise or if he did his homework, too, if he made the connection. It couldn't have been that hard. You see, while Lorenzo's blood came straight from the Gambini family, an Accardi raised him, and the Accardis were always loyal to Genova. That's got to burn. This is personal. "I knew him, long ago. I knew him, and I saw something in him, something that reminded me of myself."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it won't be easy to squash him, Genova," I say, "not when I helped make him the monster he is."

Genova nods.

No, he's not surprised at all.

"That's why I'm asking for your help, Vitale." He leans toward me, flicking even more ashes onto the floor. "Join us. Help us. Let's put all of this animosity behind us, and let's finally embrace each other as friends."

I stare at him for a moment, considering how to answer, before I just say the words. "I have no friends."

* * *

There's somebody at my front door.

Scratch that. Two somebodies—a woman and a little girl. The woman is dressed in a pantsuit with heels, tall and blonde and too attractive to be natural. The child, maybe seven, is pulling a red wagon, wearing a green vest.

A Girl Scout.

They're easily recognizable.

I whip my car into my driveway and pause for a moment, watching as they talk to Karissa. She stands on the porch with them, the front door wide open behind her, Killer wagging his tail excitedly in the yard, being doted on by the little girl.

I'm not sure how long they've been here, but I'm guessing a while.

They all look so comfortable.

The moment I step out of the car, though, that changes. The visitors quickly depart, heading the opposite direction, while Killer's stance turns defensive.

Karissa turns my way. "Where'd you run off to this morning?"

It's afternoon already.

She's still in her pajamas.

It's obvious she hasn't gone anywhere.

Huh. "Didn't you have class today?"

"I asked you first."

"Had stuff to do."

"Well, me, too," she says, waving behind her, into the open house. "Lots to do like… sleep."

I laugh at that, stepping up onto the porch with her. My gaze drifts down the street in the direction the people scurried off. "So you had some visitors today?"

"Uh, yeah… they were selling cookies. I bought a few boxes."

Shaking my head, I step past her into the foyer and freeze. At least a dozen boxes of cookies are stacked up right inside the front door.

"A few boxes," I repeat as Karissa joins me inside, ushering Killer in.

She shuts the door. "Yeah, I mean, I would've gotten more, but this was all they had left."

"More?" I ask incredulously. "You bought them out."

She pushes past me, grabbing the box from on top, and rolls her eyes dramatically, making sure I see it. Opening the box, she tears into it, pulling out one of the peanut butter Tagalongs, not even hesitating before eating the thing. "You know these things are hot commodities, and they only sell them, like, once a year. We need to be stockpiling them like it's the fucking apocalypse."

I glance at her, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think they're that serious."

"Come on, don't even act like those people on The Walking Dead wouldn't be a billion times happier if they had some Thin Mints."

"I think they'd rather have showers, and clean clothing, and maybe even the occasional steak to eat."

"Well, then, they're stupid," she says, pulling out another cookie and pointing at me with it. "These things are the key to survival. Mark my words... the Girl Scouts are geniuses. They're saving the world, one Samoa at a time."

Grabbing some boxes, I take them into the kitchen, finding room in a cabinet to shove them in. Karissa follows me, carrying the rest of the boxes, but she doesn't bother trying to help me put them away. She guards the open box, devouring the things, as she hops up on the counter beside me, just sitting there, swinging her legs.

"I always wanted to be a Girl Scout," she says. "Really, I think it was just for the damn cookies, but still... it's as good a reason as any.

"Why didn't you do it?"

"My mom wouldn't let me."

"Huh."

"Yeah, something about it being too dangerous," she says. "Guess she thought the boogeyman might've found me easier if I wore that green vest."

"He might've," I offer, not sure if my honesty will make her feel better about that. "Would've been another piece in a paper trail."

"So basically, what you're saying is, it's your fault I'm hoarding cookies."

I close the cabinet and look at her. She's being playful about it. There's nothing accusatory in her tone. "You seem to be in a good mood today."

"Yeah, I'm feeling better," she says. "I think I was burned out, you know? Between school and life and you... it's just been a lot of stress."

"Nice of you to include me."