The Lemon Grove in Sicily
Nine hours later, the plane landed in Palermo.
I had packed his luggage for this trip.
For seven years, I had packed his luggage for every single trip he took.
So sewing a tracker into the lining of his cufflink box was much simpler for me than suturing an artery.
The taxi stopped outside a manor on the edge of the city.
On the wrought-iron gate was the Falcone family eagle crest.
This was the Falcone ancestral estate.
According to old-school rules, only “the one” officially recognized by the family was qualified to be brought through those gates.
Seven years.
Massimo had never brought me here.
He said Sicily was too dangerous.
The gate opened.
Aiden ran out from the lemon grove and threw himself into Massimo’s arms.
They held each other so tightly i
