evening traffic. He hadn’t said much of anything since he spoke with his uncle. At dinner, he answered every inquiry with as little information as possible, and he pushed us out the door the minute I finished my dessert.
“Dinner was wonderful. Your mom’s a good cook. I can’t believe how much food she made. She could’ve fed the entire neighborhood.” I toyed the folds of my dress. “I kind of feel guilty that she did all that when we’re just…you know.”
“Don’t worry about it. She likes to entertain,” he answered, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, I guess. What did your uncle want?”
He frowned, his fingers tapping impatiently against the center console. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“He probably thinks I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I fainted.” I squared my shoulders. “For the record, tonight was the first time that happened, so you don’t need to worry about bringing me in public.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Uh-huh.”
“Gian, what’s the matter? Are you mad at me? Did I ruin everything?” I cataloged my conversations at dinner. “Did I say something stupid? Your family hated me, didn’t they?”
My shoulders drooped under the weight of the self-created disasters infecting my life. Gian’s dad had said exactly five words to me all night—“It’s nice to meet you.”
Dinner conversation wasn’t much better. His uncle’s early departure set the tone of the celebration. Clearly, he found me wanting, and everyone else agreed with his assessment. Everyone bowed and scraped around him like he was some sort of king. The instant that thought floated through my mind, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together, refusing to be buried under layers of excuses any longer.
Dominick wasn’t merely Gian’s uncle—he was the head of the Trassato crime family. The same one people whispered about in hushed murmurs with an equal measure of awe and disgust. While Gian and Carmela had never confirmed or denied anything, the writing was on the wall.
Panic wrapped around my ribcage like a tourniquet. A gust of air whooshed out of my lungs. Needles of fear pricked at my skin like thousands of poison-tipped arrows. The thudding of my heart drowned out the sound of the radio.
Holy shit.
No.
No.
No.
This isn’t real.
Trembling, I covered my mouth with my hand.
“Evie, are you listening to me?” Gian’s voice snapped me out of the ocean of tragedy I’d been drowning in.
“What?” I rotated toward him. One hand white-knuckled the steering wheel while the other clawed at his hair. His eyes glittered with menace. His lips were pinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Open the fucking glove box and hand me the gun.”
My stomach twisted into a knot. “The gun? What do you need a—”
His body bristling with violence, he slammed his hand against the dash, and I flinched. “Dammit! Don’t question me. Just do what I ask for once.”
Unable to get my hands to cooperate, I fumbled with the latch on the glove box.
“Make this stop,” I pleaded to no one in particular.
A car hit our bumper. A loud crash echoed through my ears, and my neck whipped forward, then backward, slamming against the headrest.
Gian shoved my head down and flipped open the glove box. The shiny metal of the gun blurred through the air like a shooting star. I pinched my eyes shut. My muscles tensed, anticipating. Dreading. Fearing.
Bang.
The rear driver’s side window shattered. Glass showered the top of my head.
Bang.
Engines revved, and my heart escalated right along with it.
Bang.
Tires squealed.
A loud, piercing noise echoed through the car, and it took me a second to realize I was screaming. I slapped a hand over my mouth, not wanting to call attention to myself. With my head braced against my thighs, I stared blankly out the window, peering at the smattering of stars playing peek-a-boo with the heavily clouded night sky.
The car whipped around the corner, and my butt slid across
“Dinner was wonderful. Your mom’s a good cook. I can’t believe how much food she made. She could’ve fed the entire neighborhood.” I toyed the folds of my dress. “I kind of feel guilty that she did all that when we’re just…you know.”
“Don’t worry about it. She likes to entertain,” he answered, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, I guess. What did your uncle want?”
He frowned, his fingers tapping impatiently against the center console. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“He probably thinks I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I fainted.” I squared my shoulders. “For the record, tonight was the first time that happened, so you don’t need to worry about bringing me in public.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Uh-huh.”
“Gian, what’s the matter? Are you mad at me? Did I ruin everything?” I cataloged my conversations at dinner. “Did I say something stupid? Your family hated me, didn’t they?”
My shoulders drooped under the weight of the self-created disasters infecting my life. Gian’s dad had said exactly five words to me all night—“It’s nice to meet you.”
Dinner conversation wasn’t much better. His uncle’s early departure set the tone of the celebration. Clearly, he found me wanting, and everyone else agreed with his assessment. Everyone bowed and scraped around him like he was some sort of king. The instant that thought floated through my mind, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together, refusing to be buried under layers of excuses any longer.
Dominick wasn’t merely Gian’s uncle—he was the head of the Trassato crime family. The same one people whispered about in hushed murmurs with an equal measure of awe and disgust. While Gian and Carmela had never confirmed or denied anything, the writing was on the wall.
Panic wrapped around my ribcage like a tourniquet. A gust of air whooshed out of my lungs. Needles of fear pricked at my skin like thousands of poison-tipped arrows. The thudding of my heart drowned out the sound of the radio.
Holy shit.
No.
No.
No.
This isn’t real.
Trembling, I covered my mouth with my hand.
“Evie, are you listening to me?” Gian’s voice snapped me out of the ocean of tragedy I’d been drowning in.
“What?” I rotated toward him. One hand white-knuckled the steering wheel while the other clawed at his hair. His eyes glittered with menace. His lips were pinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Open the fucking glove box and hand me the gun.”
My stomach twisted into a knot. “The gun? What do you need a—”
His body bristling with violence, he slammed his hand against the dash, and I flinched. “Dammit! Don’t question me. Just do what I ask for once.”
Unable to get my hands to cooperate, I fumbled with the latch on the glove box.
“Make this stop,” I pleaded to no one in particular.
A car hit our bumper. A loud crash echoed through my ears, and my neck whipped forward, then backward, slamming against the headrest.
Gian shoved my head down and flipped open the glove box. The shiny metal of the gun blurred through the air like a shooting star. I pinched my eyes shut. My muscles tensed, anticipating. Dreading. Fearing.
Bang.
The rear driver’s side window shattered. Glass showered the top of my head.
Bang.
Engines revved, and my heart escalated right along with it.
Bang.
Tires squealed.
A loud, piercing noise echoed through the car, and it took me a second to realize I was screaming. I slapped a hand over my mouth, not wanting to call attention to myself. With my head braced against my thighs, I stared blankly out the window, peering at the smattering of stars playing peek-a-boo with the heavily clouded night sky.
The car whipped around the corner, and my butt slid across
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