Isabella Genovese

We walked into an open passageway and turned the corner. I fought not to dig in my heels and skid to a stop. Hollis had presence and gravity, but I was tense at the sight I would see at the table. Mr Genovese sounded like a black hole.

He was seated at the head of the long dining table and looked to be in his late fifties. His patterned dress shirt appeared tailored and expensive. His face was rugged, his eyebrows thick and dark, and his hair had a few streaks of silver near the temples.

If this was an indication of what Hollis would look like in twenty years, he'd be handsome and distinguished when he was older.

But there was a dark, frenetic energy radiating from the older Genovese man, and I could sense it clear across the dining room. A quiet rage boiled just below the surface of his skin.

My mouth went totally dry and my throat closed up as Mr. Genovese's discerning gaze discovered me alongside his son. I remembered Hollis's words, 'try not to give a fuck.' I caught a gli