“What the f**k do you mean by that?” I asked, at the verge of tears. He turned his neck around again and continued driving.
“Why do you act like you don’t know who I am speaking of?” He asked, less eerie than before.
“Who’s acting? How do you know my sister?” My shaky voice began to brace itself. This man may be on to something.
“La tua sorella ha salvato mio cugino dai bulli una volta,” he said, adding a sigh. (Your sister saved my cousin from bullies once).
“You’re Italian?” I asked with my eyes nearly popping out of my eye sockets.
He nodded.
“How? How do you know me and how did you find me?” I stuttered my way through the sentence.
“I watched that interview, the one Ricci had the press cover. I, I dropped that note in your bar.” He breathed, increasing his speed.
“Excuse m
