The Mancini family had planned a retreat to the coastal safehouse, a rare few days of peace where the entire household would travel together under armed escort. But when Enzo's old neighborhood flame, Rosalia Vitale, caught wind of it, she begged to be included. Without so much as a glance in my direction, Enzo pulled my reserved seat from the Boss's private convoy and handed it to her, arranging instead for me to ride with the foot soldiers on a thirty-six-hour drive through back roads with no escort.
I looked to my in-laws. Not one of them raised a word of objection.
So I took the arrangement. I took the long road, traveled west, and stayed away for three months. By the time the silence broke, the entire Mancini household had descended into panic.
It was rare for Enzo to step away from the business. His minor protection rackets barely kept him busy, but the appearance of authority demanded his presence, and so genuine time away from the compound was a luxury. When the family decided on a retreat to the villa on the coast, I began planning six months out. I selected the safehouse, mapped the route, coordinated the convoy logistics, arranged for provisions, secured the seaside villa through one of my Ferrante-controlled front companies, and handled every detail from vehicles to meals to security rotations.
No one else lifted a finger. They never did.
I didn't mind the work. If the family was content, if there was a single evening where the tension in the household loosened enough for something resembling warmth, then it was worth it. Arranging a secure convoy with armored vehicles was no small task, so I had booked the seats months in advance. When Nicoletta mentioned she had never ridden in the Boss's private car, the reinforced black sedan with its leather interior and tinted bulletproof glass, I paid out of my own pocket to upgrade every seat in the convoy so the entire family could travel in comfort.
Then, two days before departure, Enzo appeared in the doorway of my study.
"Rosalia heard about the trip. She wants to come." He said it the way he said everything, as though the decision had already been made and my role was simply to absorb it. "The convoy's full, so you'll need to take the long road. I already made the arrangements."
He sent the details to my phone. A route map. A thirty-six-hour drive. No escort. No armored car. Just a seat in a civilian vehicle running with the foot soldiers.
I stared at the screen, then looked up at him.
"What is this, Enzo? This was supposed to be a family retreat. You're bringing Rosalia Vitale?"
"Of course." He didn't even hesitate. "She wants to come, so she comes."
The anger rose in my chest like a slow flame behind my ribs. "When my sister asked to join us, you shut it down immediately. You said this was family only. No outsiders. Just us. Now Rosalia snaps her fingers and you rearrange the entire convoy?"
"Rosalia and your sister are different." He loosened his tie, a gesture that was supposed to look casual but only revealed how little he understood about the weight of his own words. "She and I go back to the old neighborhood. She's closer than family. She practically is family."
I scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. "I arranged the convoy months ago. Every seat, every vehicle, every safehouse along the route. Why should I be the one riding with foot soldiers?"
"There were no seats left. I had to pull yours and reassign it to Rosalia." He shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling with the practiced indifference of a man who had never once earned the comfort he took for granted. "The only option left was the long road."
I looked at the route again. Thirty-six hours through secondary highways. No bulletproof windows. No security detail.
"So Rosalia Vitale rides in a Ferrante-funded armored car, in the seat I reserved, while I spend thirty-six hours exposed on back roads with no protection?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't you say once that you liked the countryside? The open roads? Here's your chance to see it all."
I turned to my in-laws.
