““Who is that woman? How did she find us?” “She’s ex-Mafia.” I inhale, like I just admitted I’m ex-Mafia or something. It doesn’t help that Mom glares at me as if I just confessed it, too. “Seriously, ex-Mafia? Like, the Mafia?” I nod. “Poseidon’s beard,” she mutters. I’m pretty sure I won’t get used to my mom using fishy cuss words anytime soon. “Try to lose her.” “It’s a long straight road with hardly any turns.” “Well, speed up!” She pops open the glove compartment. Then pulls out a freaking gun. “Mom-“ “Don’t start. It’s just to scare her. Usually all you have to do is show someone that you have a gun and that you’re not going to take any crap-“ “Did you hear what I said? She’s ex-Mob. Her gun probably eats guns like that for breakfast.””
