“Who were they, Giovanni?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He stared out the window at the passing streetlights, his jaw tight.

“They weren’t looking for me,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, clutching my son closer.

“They were looking for him,” Giovanni said, pointing at Luca.

“Why?” I felt a cold knot form in my stomach.

“A faction of my old family,” he said. “They want to ensure I never reclaim my seat.”

He turned his gaze to me, his dark eyes reflecting the dashboard lights.

“We cannot go back to your apartment,” he said. “And we cannot stay in Boston.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“My estate in the western part of the state,” Giovanni replied. “It is fortified.”

“Who is leading them?” I asked, fearing the answer.

Giovanni paused, his fingers tracing the edge of his leather seat.

“A man who used to call me brother,” he said.

The driver took a sharp turn, heading toward the highway that led out of the city.

The rain grew heavier, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof of the SUV.