Chapter 19: The Width of a Hand

They did not speak in the car. Dante drove with the careful, deliberate blandness of a man who has decided to become part of the upholstery. Rain had begun again, a thin, silvery, intermittent drizzle that turned the coast road into a ribbon of black glass. The headlights swept the pines. In the back seat, Aria sat with her gloved hands folded and her silver mask in her lap, and Luca sat beside h...