“You’re welcome.”

I took Eric with me to the meeting where I sat in for my father. Salvatore was to have joined me, but he’s come down with some bug and I didn’t want Dominic there. I don’t care that I’m alone. I prefer it.

This is what it will be like when my father’s gone. Me in the back of the car. Me, alone. I’ll leave Natalie as far out of this as possible. Keep her safe.

The baby, in a way, I hope it’s a girl. I wonder if my father thought about that when mom was pregnant with me. If he wished for a daughter so as not to have to pass this legacy on to his own. I wonder if, to some extent, there’s a part of us that knows that the inheritance of the first-born male is a condemnation. A daughter can’t rule. Not in our family. Sexist, I know, but her husband would take control when the time came.

I’m thinking about this when Eric slows the car.

“Need to refuel,” he says. The kid who was supposed to make sure the car was ready before we left the city hadn’t show up. Probably hungover somewhere is my guess.

“It’s fine,” I say. I need to stretch my legs anyway. Meeting was in Manhattan and I’ve been sitting for too long.

I climb out of the car and dial Natalie. It’s late, but she said she’d wait up.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft.

I can hear her smiling. It makes me smile. “Hey. Were you sleeping?”

“Nope.”

“Dozing?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you eat dinner?”

“A grilled cheese sandwich,” she says. “Two, actually. I’m trying to get to that four-hundred pounds so we can see if you still think I’m beautiful.”

I chuckle.

“Are you almost home?” she asks, a note of worry creeping into her voice.

“About thirty minutes away. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when I get home.”

“No, I’ll wait up,” she says through a yawn.

“I like waking you up,” I whisper. She knows what I mean.

“You’re dirty, Sergio Benedetti.”

“You like me dirty, Natalie Benedetti.”

She snorts, then her voice turns serious. “I miss you.”

“Me too. This was the longest three days of my life, but I’ll be home soon.” The pump clicks, and Eric takes the nozzle out. “I gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

We disconnect.

There’s no screeching of tires as two SUVs pull into the station, their windows tinted black. There’s no rush. They just slow as they turn into the lot. I’m tucking the phone back into my pocket when it happens. When I feel something isn’t right.

Silence is supposed to precede an ambush.