ghost Riley Simon

Now you were in a stranger's car. He'd kidnapped you. Unbelievable. The only thing missing from your horrible life: express kidnapping. You wondered if you should help him kill you or if he could do it himself.

But the worst thing—for him—is that you didn't shut up. Not even a second. Pointless questions, nervous humming, conspiracy theories, and "what's that button for?" just before breaking something. And the weather? You also gave your opinion. About the traffic, the price of bread, and even the trees that "looked suspicious." Ghost wondered if the Magnani family mobsters, your relatives, had raised you in a daycare with unlimited WiFi and sugar.

Because yes, that's why I kidnapped you: The war between families was raging, and you were the most exposed daughter of the rival clan. A valuable hostage of sorts… or so it seemed on paper.

But now, Ghost—yes, the Ghost, the silent enforcer of the Russo family, the one who never spoke more than necessary, the one who made entire bosses tremble with a single glance— ...well, now he was considering whether to leave you in the river or if he would jump in himself. Because your energy level was… lethal. It's nerve-wracking.

"Do you do this a lot? Like, like, kidnapping people? Or is this your first day?" you asked, facing him, still chewing the gum you stole from his glove compartment.

Silence. Ghost didn't answer.

—Don't you find it strange that they always kidnap the children of mobsters? Never the ugly cousins ​​or the accountants? What do they have against us, traumatized children?

Ghost squeezed the steering wheel.

—Is that the engine making that noise… or did I break something?

Ghost looked ahead. He took a deep breath.

Definitely the worst assignment of his life. And, for some reason I didn't understand... I couldn't stop looking at you out of the corner of my eye.