Chapter 6

"Turn on some music."

I respond by staring straight ahead through the windshield, just as I've been doing for the past hour. I don't even glance up at the rearview mirror, where I know Mia's glare would be boring holes through me.

"Hello? Have you gone deaf? Music, please. It's too quiet in here."

She receives no reply from me. My hands tighten around the wheel, and I can't help but imagine them tightening around her slender neck instead. It's bad enough that I spend most of my waking moments reminding myself how dangerous it would be to give in to my craving for her. Why does she have to make it so much more difficult?

Then again, maybe I should thank her. Hating her is so much easier than wanting her, though the intensity is about the same.

She mutters something under her breath. "Zeke. I know you can hear me. I'm only asking you to put on some music... please." She emphasizes the last word.

"Huh? Sorry, I guess I didn't hear you. I have this funny problem. My ears don't pick up when people are being rude little jerks."

"I didn't realize wanting music in the car on our way to school made me a jerk."

"You know damn well what I'm talking about." I finally risk a glance in the mirror, immediately regretting it. She's wearing a skirt that's just long enough to escape her father's censure but short enough to draw his warning to me: "Make sure she doesn't wear stuff like that around school." Great, now I'm expected to dress her in the morning too. Why not add diaper duty to my list?

Back at the compound, it was hard enough to function with her looking the way she does. Now, with no one nearby, no one to report to the boss that I'm spending a little too much time eyeing his tempting daughter, it's even worse. Her long, smooth legs, her silk-like skin—I bet she feels like silk, but I wouldn't dare find out. I haven't touched her—not her arm, not her hand—since that night. I don't trust myself.

As she crosses one leg over the other, my mouth goes dry. "Excuse me, Zeke? Would it be too much trouble to turn on the radio? I think the ride would be much more enjoyable with some music." Her voice, sweet yet edged with bitterness, is almost enough to make me laugh. She's got an attitude, but then, so do I.

"I think I can manage that." I press a button on the steering wheel, and the radio comes to life. "See? Treat someone with respect, and you get respect in return."

"Who are you, Mr. Rogers?" She rolls her eyes dramatically before returning to her phone, scrolling through social media. I chuckle and refocus on the road.

The condo we're moving into is impressive, with bedrooms large enough for an entire family. I would have killed for a room like that as a kid, crammed into a space barely larger than a closet with three cousins at my grandparents' place. We had two sets of bunk beds that barely fit. I used to have to sidestep between them.

On the surface, I've come a long way. My job, while infuriating and more challenging than almost anything I've ever done, is a lot easier than the manual labor my grandfather endured at my age, something my dad reminded me of whenever I complained as a kid. But that was before he started working for the boss—before our lives changed, before I was pulled into the Morelli family too.

I don't dig ditches, but I've dug holes that I later filled with the remains of people I was assigned to eliminate. I wonder what my grandfather would think of that.

"Can you change the station? Something a little less boring?"

I glance at her in the mirror. "This is classic music."

"Classic?" She scrunches her nose. "That's just another word for old. Music from, like, the eighties."

I know she’s doing this to fuck with me. I know she listens to stuff from so-called ancient times, too. She's just looking to start an argument. "This is what I grew up with. It's good if you give it a chance."

"I don't feel like giving it a chance today. Just change the station." I should know better than to attempt reasoning with her. We could be in a burning building, and she would still complain if I offered to help her to safety—simply because the offer came from me.