I lug my duffel bag towards the car and notice a blanket-covered lump in the backseat. I toss my duffel bag into the passenger seat and move to open the back door.
“Where are you going?” Anatoly asks.
“I’m going to sit with Dante.” I pull open the back door, but before I can slide inside, Anatoly is behind me. He grabs my shoulders and hauls me back.
“What?” I hiss. “I won’t wake him up.”
Anatoly holds out a hand to keep me back and peers into the backseat like he’s waiting for the lump to explode.
“What do you mean, it isn’t Dante?” My heart is like a jackhammer against my ribs. “He’s supposed to be here.”
Or was it a lie?
Anatoly doesn’t answer me. Instead he grabs the corner of the blanket and whips it back.
“No!” The cry that comes out of Anatoly is guttural. It’s dripping with
