He sat facing the unlit fire pit. I flicked it on, the flames jumping to life in front of us. “I mean, I know I’m lucky. Money. Power. Prestige. Blah, blah, blah. But I want something that’smine. Something that isn’t tied to the family.”
He nodded slowly. “Mmm. And what would you do if you could do anything?”
I tilted my head. “No one’s ever asked me that.”
“I’m not no one.”
I smiled. “Okay. Take this to your grave.”
He chuckled. “Might be sooner than you think.”
I bit my lower lip. “I want to be made.”
His eyes widened.
“Hear me out,” I rushed on. “I’m just as good as the guys. Hand-to-hand. Grappling. I could be—like a black widow or something. I’d be good at it. If Dad would just?—”
Grandpa burst out laughing.
“Oh, Ihaveto be there when you tell him,” he said between cackles. “Might claim it’s my dying wish.” He slapped his knee. “Best day of my damn life. A black widow. Hell, what’s stopping you? Go out there and bite, little girl. Take a big ol’ bite out of life.”
He laughed harder, then softened. “Best decision I ever made was having kids. And grandkids.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m thirteen. I highly doubt he’s going to be thrilled with this career path.”
Grandpa shrugged. “Then he can take it up with me.”
He pulled me into a hug, warm and solid and safe.
“You could collect bugs for the rest of your life and I’d still be proud of you,” he said quietly. “Do what makes you feel alive, honey. Do what makes you brave.”
18
LOUIS
The life of man [is] solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. — Thomas Hobbes
The restaurant wasn’t anything to get excited about.
Then again, it never was. You hide in plain sight. You disappear into the smell of frying chicken and steamed vegetables, into families laughing too loudly, children whining for dessert, the flush of a bathroom toilet down the hall. You hide among the normal.
The Vescovi family understood that better than most.
Something told me this wouldn’t be a long meeting.
I made my way to the back table markedReservedby a small red sign and sat. A single glass of wine waited for me. In front of it, a folded card read: Drink me.
Well. Shit.
Guess introductions were optional.
I drained the glass.
It tasted like a poor man’s Italian red blend—too sweet, no depth, the kind of wine meant to disguise something elseentirely. My stomach clenched almost immediately. The room tilted. My vision blurred.
Ah.
There it is.