Page 113 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

Later that night, I pass by the guesthouse.

The light in the far window is on.

Gianna isn’t inside.

She’s in the courtyard, curled on the bench beneath the olive tree where her mother used to read.

Her hair is unbound.

She doesn’t see me.

Or if she does, she doesn’t look up.

I almost walk past her.

I almost go inside and pretend this is someone else’s problem.

But I don’t.

I stand behind her for a long time, watching the way her shoulders rise and fall.

The night is quiet.

Too quiet.

It doesn’t feel like peace.

It feels like a pause.

Like something waiting to erupt.

When she finally speaks, it’s so soft I almost miss it.

"I thought I knew who he was. I thought I’d always know."

I step closer. "And now?"

She doesn’t turn around. "Now I don’t know if I ever did."

I sit beside her.

She doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t lean away.

We stare out at the darkness.

She doesn’t ask where I was today.

I don’t offer it.

Her eyes are on the horizon, but I know she isn’t seeing anything.

Not the silhouette of the cypress trees.

Not the stars dimming above the old guesthouse roof.

She’s somewhere else entirely.