But Christopher was not your typical witness. He stared at me with his green eyes under those round copper glasses. His eyes were unblinking, almost in shock, and yet there was something else behind them. It looked like pride, directed at me.

He glanced at Elena again, as if in a silent question. Like Charlie and me, they didn’t seem to need words.

Elena threw her shoulders back and opened her mouth. “It was Maurizio.”

“Your husband, Maurizio?”

Her face sagged; she nodded.

“Did you…?” I said, looking at Christopher.

His eyes watched me. He nodded.

“You killed him,” I said, to make sure I understood.

Another nod.

I glanced at Elena, whose chin was trembling, tears starting to stream.

“What in the hell is going on here?” My voice was angry again. I had no idea how to interpret this situation. Was Christopher-my father-a ruthless killer? Was Elena scared of him. Should I be scared of him?

Maggie spoke up. “Maurizio was in the Camorra, isn’t that right?”

How great it felt to hear Maggie back in defense-lawyer mode.

Elena and Christopher both nodded.

“Did he threaten you, Mr. McNeil?”

“Yes, he tried to kill me. So I killed him.”

I felt my bottom lip move away from my top. I felt my head recoil at the stark simplicity of his words, as if they were easy to say-So I killed him.

He saw my reaction. He nodded as if he understood, didn’t expect me to think any differently.

I didn’t know what to think. My mind screamed and staggered.

“How did Maurizio know about your office down there?” Maggie asked.

“No one knew until today. We believe he followed Isabel and Elena from Ischia. He was there with her on the island. As best we can gather, he must have heard her and Izzy talking. When Elena told him she was going back to Rome, he didn’t give anything away.”

Elena began to weep again.

Christopher moved fast to her desk and stood beside her, a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Elena looked up at Christopher, her chin still trembling.

He crouched beside her chair, and, as if begging forgiveness, held out a hand. “I am sorry. Truly sorry.”

Something in me said, Where’s my apology? but I knew Elena had suffered so much more than me.

Elena took Christopher’s hand, grasped it with both of hers. They stayed like that for a long moment.

Then Elena sat up and looked at us. “What have we done to Charlie?”

Christopher shook his head back and forth, making his gray hair move slightly at the sides. “This is not your fault. This is not your fault. It is because of me that they have done this to my son. They are trying to get to me.”

Something about the words my son rankled me. They were technically true, but what right did he have to use them?

Elena shook her head. “Don’t give in to them, Christopher. Don’t give them what they want.”

“Who are you talking about?” I said. “Who is them? The Camorra?”

“Yes,” Christopher said. “They must know I’m alive, that I have spent the last twenty years fighting them.”

He looked at Elena. She shook her head slowly. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t tell them this time. You must fight them.”

“At the cost of my son? I have already given them my life. I gave up my children. I can’t now sacrifice my son’s life. And you know that they will kill him, Elena.”

Elena stared into the eyes of her brother. “I’m surprised they have not already.”

“What?” My insides felt as if they were ripping apart. “Do you think they would really kill Charlie?”

“If they don’t get what they want,” Christopher said, “then yes.”

“Then give them what they want! And what in the hell do they want?”

Christopher took a step away from my aunt. “Me. They want me. And I’m guessing they want something else, too, but I’m not sure what. What I am sure about, though, is that I’m going to give them what they want if it will spare Charlie.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. “How?”

“They kidnapped Charlie in the United States, in Chicago, and in a very public way. They clearly were sending us a message.”

“Us?” I said with trepidation. I couldn’t stand the thought that I might have contributed to what was going on with Charlie, but I knew that he was right. “Dez Romano,” I said.

Christopher nodded. “Between your involvement with him-”

“I wasn’t involved with him.”

Christopher held up a hand, as if to say, It’s not the time to discuss that, and I resented that hand, the way he seemed to be telling me what to do as if he were a father who knew me, a father who’d been around.

He continued talking. “And the Camorra likely finding out about me, they turned to someone who would be a message to both of us-Charlie. I’ve gotten that message. I’m ready to respond.”

“So, what? You’re going to go to Chicago and turn yourself into them?”

“Not exactly like that, but yes.”

I paused. Then, “I need to go home, too. I can’t stay here while this is happening to Charlie.”

“Then you are responding to their message, too.”

I looked at him defiantly. “I guess I am.”

He opened his mouth, about to protest, but then he nodded. “I understand. But it might complicate things if we all travel on public airlines.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re clearly looking for me, for us, and by flying a public airline, we’ll be easier to find. The American passport system and airline system is impossible to infiltrate right now, but in Italy? The Camorra could easily find out passenger lists in and out of the cities.”

“I know someone who has a private plane. Would it help if we flew private?”

My father turned to me, his eyes locking back into mine, but this time it seemed as if he were seeing me, really me, for the first time since he’d appeared. His gaze gave me a strange, almost violent sensation. My head could not catch up.

So I just repeated my question. “Would it help if we flew private?”

My father nodded.

I looked at Elena. “Is there a phone I can use that we know for sure is secure?”

Christopher took a phone from his pocket. “They do not know this number. Who do you want to call?”

I looked up Theo’s number on my own phone and dialed it. “Hi,” I said when he answered. “Any way I could borrow your plane?”

A private plane, I learned, is the way to travel. None of that racing to the airport, getting there hours ahead of time. Instead, you roll up by means of a taxi, right to the airplane, and calmly hand your bag to the pilot. There’s none of that stripping down to your underwear in order to get through security, no shoving of products into two-ounce bottles and then shoving them farther into a freaking quart-size baggie so all the world can see your eye cream and deoderant.

Theo had had to bargain with his partner and other shareholders to get the plane so last-minute, but he must have been persuasive, because there it was, just for us. Theo had offered to personally pick us up, but I’d told him to stay put. There was no reason for him to fly to Italy and back again. But as I stepped on the plane, I wished he were there with me.

Eight single seats were on either side of the cabin. They were huge, made of ivory leather.

Maggie sat in one, bounced up and down. “These are great!”

My father and I got in next. We inadvertently sat in seats across from each other, right at the same time. It felt weird. Maggie seemed to sense the unease and said, “Izzy, come here so I can show you something.”

She drew me up to the cockpit, introduced ourselves to the pilots, then pointed, rather randomly, at some of their instruments.

She dropped her voice then. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell your mom about…” Maggie’s gaze drifted over my shoulder to my father. My father.

“I can’t. I can’t just tell her on the phone. Hey, Mom. I know your son was kidnapped, and that’s because a Mob group wants revenge or leverage or something against me and your ex-husband-who…Oh, yeah, by the way…is alive.”