She became aware of her breasts heaving, pulled right out of her camisole. With a trembling hand she started her car and drove a little recklessly away from the house, down the long winding drive, her jeans still in one hand, her breasts exposed, her blood and his seed staining the driver’s seat under her.

She didn’t care. She had to get out of his sight and she did, driving almost to the gates where she stopped the car, got out and was sick. She had to crouch down to empty her stomach. Her shaky legs barely held her up. The first time she’d come home from grad school was on her break several months earlier. That had been normal; she always returned home on her breaks.

Her grandfather had asked her to take a case of his reserve to one of his oldest friends, Don Miguel, a man his age who often graced their table, played dominoes with her and spent a great deal of time laughing. She was very fond of him. She’d stayed at his home for an hour, played their favorite game before kissing his cheek and leaving. She left for school the next day. Her first day back to school, her grandfather called her and told her that Don Miguel was dead. She hadn’t asked how because the man was in his eighties. Everyone knew he had a bad heart. She should have asked.

She bit back a sob and pressed her hand to her mouth again. The second visit she’d been called home because her grandfather was ill. The flu, it turned out. He’d asked her just before she left to deliver a case of his best reserve to another friend, Carlo Bianchi, a man who had actually worked for him for a long time. He’d started his own businesses and become very successful, but the two men remained good friends. She’d stayed an hour, laughing and joking with him. She liked him too. He was her grandfather’s age and always treated her like a granddaughter. Three days later she learned he had died—that someone had broken into his home and shot him.

Siena had come back home for his funeral. Her grandfather had spoken at the funeral, in fact, he’d gotten so choked up that Siena had gotten up and taken over his talk for him. He had quietly wept through the entire service. She had stayed close to her grandfather, worried that he might become ill at the death of such a close friend on the heels of the first that had come only a few weeks before.