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be much less painful.’
    ‘I am yours,’ I conceded finally, my voice quiet but firm. ‘Do with me what you will.’
    Just then, a pathetically inadequate digital rendition of Mozart rose, buzzing, from somewhere on Emilio’s person, and I frowned in confusion. He reached a hand into his suit jacket and withdrew a cellphone. ‘ Pronto ,’ he answered in Italian, and before he had finished saying the word, a loud voice started screeching on the other end.
    Emilio placed his hand over the receiver and gestured to the guy in the suit, the one who’d been admiring his own fingernails as we spoke of life and death, the one who I’d forgotten was even there.
    He was actually going to answer a call while we were in the middle of talking about my life . Emilio didn’t even look at me, just strode into the next room, speaking a steady stream of Italian that I couldn’t decipher.
    The man in the corner spoke up. The Suit, I decided to call him. I looked at him properly now. He was tall and wiry, with intense sapphire-coloured eyes, a mop of shaggy brown hair and an imposing stature. In another context he might have been attractive; but there was something in his eyes that troubled me . I watched them closely and noticed they never stayed still. Every tiny mood change and thought was expressed through those crazy ice-blue eyes, the subtle shifts in his neck muscles, and the way his long fingers fidgeted with his middle suit button.
    Buttoned. Unbuttoned. Buttoned. Unbuttoned. The guy couldn’t stay still, and when I heard him sniff again, I guessed why.
    He’d been sampling the goods.
    ‘If he let it go to voicemail every time he got a call in the middle of shooting someone,’ the Suit said, ‘well, he’d have a lot of fucking voicemails.’ He tilted his head as he spoke, just adding to the psychotic vibe he was giving off. His accent was distinctly American.
    I threw him a disgusted look before returning my gaze to my father.
    I’m sorry , he mouthed, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It was a bit late for sorry, and he just looked pathetic trying to apologise while he was on his knees at gunpoint. I shook my head minutely and stared at the ceiling instead, making sure to keep the Suit in my peripheral vision at all times. No way was I turning my back on that crazy-looking bastard.
    Emilio returned to the room, tucking his cellphone into his suit as he walked with purpose. ‘Time to go,’ he barked.
    ‘Can I at least pack some things?’ I asked, my brain screaming at me to stall what was happening. What the goddamn was happening? Este was probably still lying dead in the alleyway, and my entire life was disintegrating in front of my very eyes.
    And the worst part was, I wasn’t even surprised. I’d been waiting for this moment since the day I found out what my father really did.
    Emilio almost laughed. ‘This isn’t a holiday, bambina . You are not a person any longer, do you understand? You just became a piece of property. My property. ’
    Panic bubbled within me. ‘Your property is going to be cold at night without her coat,’ I said stubbornly. ‘Please —’
    ‘No,’ Emilio said. ‘Don’t make me shoot you all, cholita . You will obey me.’
    My head was spinning, and for a moment my vision blurred.
    ‘Can I at least say goodbye?’
    ‘No.’ He snapped his fingers, gesturing to me, and the Suit pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, approaching me. No!
    Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Suit smile. It was so small I barely caught it at all, but it was there. My hands began to shake.
    ‘Enjoying the show?’ I shot, before I could stop myself.
    He laughed, feigning amusement, but the tightly bunched muscles in his neck told a different story. ‘You’re riding with me on the way back,’ he said, his weird eyes going even wider. ‘So yes, I am enjoying this.’
    The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a scowl, as he pushed past me, deliberately knocking me.