“I remember every promise I make.”
The drive took us away from Palermo and into the hills.
The city lights thinned behind us. Roads curved between dark fields and stone walls. I watched the reflection of my wedding dress in the window until it resembled a pale ghost seated beside me.
Niko answered two phone calls in Italian, speaking briefly. He asked questions about the gates, the staff, and a vehicle that had apparently been seen near the lower road.
When he finished, I said, “Are we being followed?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because fear becomes more dangerous when it is permitted to invent details.”
I considered that.
“Did someone teach you to say things like that?”
“My mother taught me not to lie badly.”
“What did your father teach you?”
The car grew quieter.
“To recognize when someone else is lying.”
I waited.
“Is he alive?”
