Her real name was Renata Mirabella. Your great-aunt is Amalia Mirabella.â
Her stomach lurched. It had to be a lie and a dirty trick to make such accusations when her mother wasnât alive to defend herself. Her eyes burned, and her throat hurt to swallow. âWhat do you want?â
âYour mother made herself very useful to the family back in the day. She grew up helping out. She was your grandpa and great-uncleâs favorite.â
The man in back scoffed. âShows how poor their judgment was.â
Benito ignored him. âEventually your mom handled the bookkeeping and served as a messenger between the bosses. Even snuggled up to the right people to help with some scores. After her father died, she disappeared, taking Uncle Claudioâs wifeâyour auntâwith her. But she left a note. Said she had enough evidence to send most of the family to the chair. Upon her death, it would be delivered to the FBI. So we didnât chase her, on your great-uncle Claudioâs orders.â
Gabriellaâs foot slipped off the gas. Her mom had worked for the mob? No. Not possible. She shook her head. âI donât understand what it is you want from me.â
âItâs very simple. Get us the evidence, and we let you and your aunt go without consequence, out of respect for the family.â He sighed. âI had a great fondness for your mother.â
She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision as she turned down the long road that led to the ranch. She could see the wrought iron gates in front of the man-made lake. âYou had a fondness for her? Thatâs why youâre holding her aunt hostage.â The sarcasm kept her from leaping out of her seat and punching Benito in his smug face.
âI understand your mother didnât teach you the family business,â he answered, his voice steady, âbut affection only goes so far. If a relative turns on us, we turn on them. We do what it takes to protect the family.â His chin jutted out. âDrive inside,â he said.
Her shaky finger moved to the clicker. Her sanctuary, her safe placeâshe didnât want to let these crazy people in. The gate swung open as she turned in to the driveway. âBut you donât understand. Even if you donât believe me that my mom never ran with the mafia, Iâm telling you she didnât leave behind anything but this property. No evidence, no money...nothing! You could search the house andââ
âWe already did,â the gruff voice behind interrupted.
She inhaled sharply. What if she had slept at home the past week? What would they have done? She pulled her elbows in closer to her torso as she drove, wishing she could curl up in a ball, away from them.
âItâs a big property,â Benito said. âAnd your mom wouldnât be one to trust banks. Besides, weâve already checked.â
âSo why kill ourselves trying to find it when you can do the work for us?â the man in back added.
âEven if youâre right, which I promise youâre not, why would you think the evidence hasnât already gone to the FBI?â She looked in her rearview mirror. The black sedan stayed behind her down the mile-long driveway that meandered through the property until they reached the house.
âIf the FBI had it already, we wouldnât be having this conversation. Our sources think your mom left it for you.â Benito winked. âBesides, we have connections. We would know if something was about to go down. But if that happened, itâd get...complicated for you and your aunt.â
Gabriella pulled to a stop in front of the house but hesitated to shift into Park. The man in the back leaned forward, and through the rearview mirror she could see the way he leered. She kept one foot on the brake and one foot on the gas, in case he moved to try anything. At the very least she could drive into the lake.
âYou have
Carmen Caine, Madison Adler