Marcello sighed, reluctant, and held me a moment longer before letting go. "Stay here, baby. Walk around, make yourself comfortable. I'll be back soon."
I nodded, though my chest was heavy. The last thing I wanted was to sit in his office surrounded by my own face. So I wandered. Floor after floor, pretending to look, pretending to care. Past the legitimate offices that laundered the Family's reputation, past conference rooms where men in expensive suits discussed shipping routes that never appeared on any manifest.
By noon, my phone buzzed. I picked it up quickly, my heart racing when I saw the caller ID.
"Ms. Arianna Cooper," the woman said politely, "your application for immigration has been approved. Please come to the consulate to collect your visa."
I opened my mouth to answer, but a voice I knew too well cut in from behind me.
"Visa?"
My blood ran cold.
I turned slowly, and there he was. Marcello. His face had gone pale, like someone had pulled the ground out from under him.
"What visa?" he asked, his voice low but trembling.
My heart skipped, but I forced a small smile. "Not mine. A friend of mine's planning to move abroad. She just called to ask me about it."