Violetta sighs and crosses her arms over her belly. “I hate this.”

“It’s the right thing.”

“I know,” she says. “Believe me, if I didn’t agree with him, I’d be in there right now.”

“Me too.”

I’d be running in front, calling Dario’s name, throwing open doors burning down buildings to flush him out.

“It’s so quiet,” I say after five minutes without a word, and I know she understands me.

It’s not quiet at all. Between the rustle and crack of leaves and the caw of birds I cannot visualize as any smaller than a sedan, it’s louder than Manhattan. But there are no gunshots from the resort. No engines rumbling. No shouts or cries. It doesn’t even sound like a resort, which… I don’t know what a resort sounds like, but it has to sound more fun than this.

My palms are soaked. I rub them on my pants.

If Dario’s in there and there’s a problem, someone’s making a decision about whether he lives or dies. Someone’s choosing between two bad options.

Time keeps passing. Nothing changes. More time.

I can’t let this happen without me. He’s my husband. He’s the love of my life. These are my decisions.

“I’m going in,” I whisper, putting a sweaty hand on the door handle.

“Be patient.”

“With all due respect.” My voice is so low she has to lean inches from my face. “I know Santino can handle himself, but you don’t know my people. You don’t know what they’ll do to him if he gets in their way.” I pause, looking her in the eye. “I do.”

She holds my gaze, scanning for I-don’t-even-know what. Seriousness. Hysteria. Truth. Maybe the competence I crave.

She reaches into her jacket. I expect her to take out a phone so she can call Santino and warn him. Instead, she quietly unsnaps her holster and slides out her gun. She presses it into my hand, then puts her finger to her lips.

“Go get our men,” she whispers, then cries, “What was that?”

“What?” Carlo turns to us. He’s a thin man with fat cheeks and hard green eyes.

“I heard something.”

“Like a crack,” I add. “Or a pop.”

“I’m going to check it out.” In a split second, Violetta’s in the road, leaving an open car door behind her.

“Signora!” Carlo jumps out, and I’m alone. Through the back window, Violetta’s running to investigate a nonexistent noise with Carlo chasing after.

He’s going to catch her in a few seconds. That’s how long I have.

I get out. The sun is brighter and the sounds are louder. In one last glance back, I see Carlo catching up to Violetta. She reprimands him in Italian, maneuvering herself so that if he wants to face her, his back is to me.