THIRTY-SIX |

hour until the Yankees and the Astros would finish playing. It was an hour until the crowds would come swarming out of the stadium, some disappointed, some celebrating, some just wanting to go home.

An hour until one life would be exchanged for another. An hour until goodbye.

At least, that was how it had to seem to my father, whose chess piece was supposed to trump all others: Cecelia.

Everyone had gathered at Marco's house since his was closer to town than Arturo's, and a tense atmosphere electrified the air. Nadir sat at one of the three computers which had been set up to monitor the Genovese's whereabouts, while his partner, Paolo, was already at the stadium waiting for them to arrive. It was his job to locate the vehicle which would be used to transport me.

Marco was also staring at the screen, coffee in hand, face much more relaxed. Every few seconds he would look up and lock eyes with Arturo, who was pacing furiously. While Marco's expression was placating, Arturo's was threatening; he had placed my life in the hands of his second-in-command, something he had vowed he would never do.

There was a lot of pressure on Paolo and Marco's shoulders, but each of them seemed to be handling it with equanimity. Their assuredness, or at least their facade of assuredness, calmed me somewhat.

I envied their ability to appear relaxed.

I stood by the window in Marco's living room, listening to Arturo's rhyming steps across the same stretch of carpet with my hands clenched into fists. It wasn't because I was angry; if I relaxed them then everyone would see how badly I was shaking. And it wasn't because of the risk to my own life – it was because this group of people, many of whom I had only just met, were willing to lay their lives on the line to protect me.

Everybody knew the risks were immense – when you dance with the enemy, you flirt with not only danger but death. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone being hurt because of me.

A crackling sound filled the air for a moment and then Paolo's muffled voice took over on the speakers. "I've located the vehicle," he announced, and everybody's heads turned to the computer where Nadir was sat.

"Can you confirm that there are no soldiers watching the vehicle, armed or otherwise?" Arturo barked, his voice demanding.

"Raimondo has arrived with three men to complete the exchange, as agreed. There are no other bodies protecting the vehicle."

All eyes flickered to Arturo, whose arms were folded as he stared at the ground as though he could burn a hole in it. "You're certain?"

"Affirmative."

The line clicked off and for a moment we all stood in absolute silence. Nobody moved, we hardly even breathed. The enormity of what was about to happen could be felt pressing in, like a great wall of water crashing over the house.

Arturo's gaze met mine and I felt my heart thud painfully. There was a tortured quality to his expression, I could see the pain written all over his features, shown to nobody but myself. He had turned so that his back was to the rest of the room, and I could tell that this was our last private moment.

"I love you," he mouthed silently, brows furrowed.

"I love you, too." My response was equally noiseless; meant for no one but him.

Then his expression melted into that familiar, cold mask, and he turned to the rest of the room. "It's time to go. Nadir, stay in contact."

"Yes, boss."

Arturo nodded briefly then gestured for Marco to lead the way out of the house. Everyone filed out until there were only three of us left in the room. Nadir averted his eyes to the computer screen and busied himself with something on there.

"It's going to be okay," I said slowly, reaching out to touch Arturo's arm. "This has to happen, but soon it will all be over."

I didn't believe my own words, yet what else could I do? This was my plan, my idea, and it would be my own fault if it went wrong. I had to offer some sort of assurance.

Arturo was silent for a moment, staring down at our now-linked hands. I hated seeing him so tormented, I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but I knew that would only make him feel worse.

"After all this is over," he began, without looking up, "once this is done, I'm never going to let this side of my life come near you again." His eyes met mine causing the lump in my throat to grow. "You are never going to have to deal with anything like this again, do you hear?"

I took a step closer until we were chest to chest and cupped his face in my hands. "You forget that this is my life, too. I was born a Genovese," I said quietly.

"What we are born as doesn't have to define us. I won't let it define you."

His words, so strong and fierce, set my chest alight with hope. We weren't fixed, we were far from perfect, but for the first time ever I felt strong with Arturo.

I leaned up and pressed my lips to his for only a second – not enough to last, not enough to linger, barely enough to taste him. I wouldn't permit myself any more than that until we were safe.

"Let's do this."

**

I was sat in the back of an armoured SUV driven by Marco, with Paolo in the passenger seat. He had successfully managed to place a tracker on Raimondo's van, under the wheel hub, and had left a camera trained on the vehicle. Even if it moved out of shot, we would know exactly where it went.

"The game has just finished," Paolo announced as the first few people began emerging from the stadium. I felt especially bad for Paolo, since he had planned on taking his wife to see the baseball tonight. Another sacrifice made for me that I wished I could repay.

"We have to wait until the crowd gets thicker," Marco replied warily, glancing out of the windshield.

There were two exit points from the stadium, and each one had been picked by my father as the exchange points. The idea was that if anyone pulled a gun in this big of a crowd, the authorities would act faster and with more force than either side could overcome. It was a way of guaranteeing no weapons, not that that was really needed for Arturo.

He had been brought up in one of the oldest crime families in the world; honour was perhaps the most integral value they held, so if the agreement was to go in with no weapons, that was exactly what he'd do. As for Raimondo, well, I wasn't exactly sure I could say the same for him. I was certainly grateful for the extra assurance.

Suddenly Arturo's voice erupted over the phone that Marco held. "It's time," he said, and even hearing his voice sent a wave of anxiety over me.

We all climbed out of the car, with Marco and Paolo coming to stand on either side of me. My pulse was pounding in my ear drums, despite the noise of the growing crowd it was all I could hear.

"Florence?" Marco nudged me and I realised I'd zoned out into my own insular bubble of panic. "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry, no."

"I said we're going to have to grab onto you pretty hard. We have to make it look like you're against this whole idea, okay? You have to look scared."

Marco's expression was sympathetic as he explained all of this, but I was already more than aware of what was required of me. This had to be the best performance of my life.

I nodded, holding out my arms so that Marco and Paolo could hold onto them.

As we began pushing through the crowd, all I could think about was my father and what it would be like to see him again after all these years. I hadn't seen him since that day in the casino when I watched Arturo bleed out right in front of me. My father had been the one to pull the trigger, and that was something I thought I had come to terms with a long time ago. It seemed different, though, now that I was about to see him in the flesh.

A furious rage simmered unpleasantly under my skin.

It turned out that appearing to struggle against the grip of Marco and Paolo wasn't that difficult at all when we were being jostled this way and that by the crowd as we tried to push through throngs of bodies all going the opposite way.

"We have visuals of Cecelia, can you confirm what you see?" I heard Arturo's voice crackle once again over the phone.

"Raimondo is waiting at the agreed exchange point," Marco said.

There was a hesitation. "Proceed as planned."

Offering me one final look of reassurance, Marco and Paolo both pulled me in the direction of the stadium's exit. At first, I couldn't locate my father amongst the busy crowd of people, but as we drew closer the lump in my throat became unbearable.

My first glimpse at his face made a wave of nausea hit me, followed by burning anger. I felt my muscles coil up, as though preparing to lunge at him despite the fact we were still a couple of hundred feet away.

Then, as we got closer still, something strange happened.

Images began flashing in my mind; of my father's dispassionate face as he sealed my fate and sent me to New York; images of his hands holding a gun, firing it; images of Arturo's suddenly fragile body crumpling like it weighed nothing; red.

And then I felt my throat close around a scream. Before I could let it out, Marco was viciously thrusting me forward, causing me to stumble over my own feet. By this point the panic on my face was very much real. I struggled against the grip of my friends-turned-captors, writhing against their iron grasp.

All I could think about was my father and how dangerous he had become; he had been intoxicated by the beautiful fumes of power and now who knew what he would do? I was just a pawn in his game; I always had been. Was Cecelia really worth laying my life down for? I didn't know her, I'd never met her, I certainly wasn't willing to die for her.

"My beautiful daughter." Even from metres away, Raimondo's voice carried like a well-thrown arrow spearing my heart. The blood in my veins churned, suddenly icy, as I struggled harder.

I glanced around desperately, hoping somebody in the crowd would notice what was going on – hoping somebody would care. Nobody did. Even those who glanced in our direction for a moment were too caught up in their own lives; their disappointment or glee at the game; the husband or wife or child who was waiting at home for them.

I was nobody.

Marco and Paolo pulled me to a halt right in front of my father, who was wearing the most revoltingly triumphant grin I had ever seen. "As we agreed," Marco said gruffly, "she's yours."

Raimondo took a moment to study me, as I did him. The slightly protruding stomach he had once sported was gone, and his ageless face had now been creased and folded by the pressures of time. He looked astonishingly older than I remembered.

When he put his palm on my cheek I winced away. "I always knew he'd have enough of you, in the end. It was only a matter of time before he threw you away, back to your family where you belong."

"I am not your family," I spat, meeting his gaze with fire roaring in mine.

Raimondo continued smiling, nodding to himself. "You're right," he agreed. "You belong to the Ivanovs now. And you will make Viktor a very happy man."

"Go to hell."

Although my voice was filled with venom, it didn't register with my father. He glanced to his left dispassionately and gestured to the man who accompanied him, "Seize her."

I tried to calm my heart rate as two sets of arms grabbed me roughly and dragged me away from the last beacons of safety I had, Marco and Paolo. I tried to make eye contact with them, to communicate something – anything – but they had already turned away from me.

The moment I saw their backs all the fight I had left in me drained away.

I allowed myself to be dragged through the ever-moving crowd, this time in a direction I didn't recognise. Disorientated and terrified, I realised that all I could do now was trust in Arturo's ability to keep me safe. He would do whatever he could to protect me, and that had to be enough.

I kept walking, obedient, defeated, silent, until I realised what I should have known from the start.

A van sat in the distance, idling, while a man leaned against it.

More than one exchange was taking place tonight.