I nodded. I did not refuse. I was leaving this city, and I wanted to look at it one last time. Every crumbling facade. Every lamppost. Every corner where three children had once played at being invincible. I wanted to carry the image with me so that when I closed the door on this life, I would remember exactly what I was walking away from.
We descended to the garage beneath the compound. The air was cooler there, heavy with the scent of motor oil and cold concrete. Three cars waited in a row, their polished surfaces gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
Giancarlo moved first. He opened the passenger door of his black sedan and gestured for Rosalia to sit. Salvatore did the same with his own car, pulling the door wide, his eyes already on her.
Rosalia hesitated. She looked at me from beneath her lashes, her expression a masterwork of manufactured discomfort.
"Isn't the passenger seat reserved for Seraphina?" She pressed her fingers together, the picture of reluctance. "If I sit there, she'll be upset with me."