“I don’t care how you feel, Devek. Besides, it’s one in the morning. But even if it was one in the afternoon, I’d say no. And I’ll tell you this much. I’m a lot nicer to your daughter than you ever were to my son.”

Silence. “I sincerely apologize—to both of you.”

“Yeah, too little and way too late, but it doesn’t matter now. Give the goons my number, and we’ll go from there.”

“Chris, I don’t know how to thank you—”

“It’s Mr. Donatti to you, and don’t bother thanking me because I’m not doing you a favor. You’re going to owe me, big time.”

“I already told you I’ll pay you back every cent—plus interest.”

“Nuh-uh. I don’t need your money. I’ve got plenty of cash that’s already gathering dust. Listen carefully, motherfucker, because this is the deal. You took my wife. I want her back.”

WHEN CHRIS WHEELED me out of the hospital, I could open my eyes, although I had blood-filled black bags under my orbs and deep purple eyelids on top. My face was a Pollock painting in mixed berry colors. The good news was that the green was starting to come in, and as ugly as it was, it indicated healing. My ribs didn’t hurt as much anymore, and I could breathe better now. That wouldn’t be an issue going forward. My arm was in a cast, and I had the option of a sling should the plaster prove to be too onerous. I could walk, but at the pace of a turtle. My back still hurt, and although my creatinine levels were back down, I wasn’t completely out of danger.

I wanted to see Juleen, but she was in the middle of lessons, and part of me agreed with Chris and Gabe—that perhaps it was wiser to wait until I looked better and was a bit stronger. The one thing I didn’t want was her mothering me. A few more days wouldn’t make a difference. She was being looked after and she was safe. That was all that mattered.

Chris seated me in the back of a stretch limo, and he came around and sat behind the driver. I struggled to put my seat belt on. He watched me, knowing I didn’t want help. When I finally clasped the buckle, he told the driver to go.

He said, “You doing all right?”

I looked out the window: it was all greenery and mountains. “Disoriented.”

“You’ll get the lay of the land.”

“Do you own all this?”

“I do.”

“Lots of acreage.”

“Lots and lots. I have my own town—my own police and fire and my own zip code.”

“What’s the town called?”

“Mountain Pass. Not very original, but it’s neutral.”

“Do you have your own laws?”