Junior
I grab twenty grand in cash and jump in the car with Desiree, who has her pop music playing on the radio.
I don’t know why I find that so adorable.
Her barb this morning about not trusting her stuck in my ribs. She’s right. I don’t. I can’t. That’s how I was raised. The training drilled into me by Santo Tacone.
But I brought her an olive branch. I drop her phone in her lap.
She looks over at me in surprise, but I don’t acknowledge it. f**k, my suspicious instincts already have me wanting to snatch it back, keep her from any outside contact.
But I have to trust her at some point. If I’m letting her walk out of my house when it’s all through, trusting her not to tell anyone, then I should extend the same faith now.
Still, when she immediately starts texting someone, I get tense
