Before I could find the contact, the phone began to vibrate in my hand.

An unknown number was calling.

Matteo glanced at the screen.

“Answer it,” he said. “Put it on speaker.”

I pressed the button and held the phone between us.

The static was loud, mixed with the sound of the windshield wipers scraping against the cracked glass.

“Matteo,” a voice said through the speaker.

It was Gianni.

“You made a mistake,” Gianni said, his voice calm and cold.

“You killed him, Gianni,” Matteo said, his voice flat.

“No one will believe you,” Gianni replied. “The bride is the killer. And you are her accomplice.”

There was a pause, and then Gianni added, “We have her father.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“What?” I whispered.

“He was trying to board a flight to Munich,” Gianni said. “He didn’t make it.”

The line went dead.

I looked at Matteo, the blood draining from my face.

“My father,” I whispered.

Matteo did not answer.

He stared straight ahead at the dark road, his jaw clenched.

A bright light flashed in the side mirror.

I turned around.