It isnt what I expected, visiting San Quentin. I guess I envisioned some sort of mash-up of all the prison movies Ive ever seen – having to endure the indignity of a body cavity search by the door, being paraded down a long hallway, flanked by cells of yelling, jeering inmates – but when we enter the prison, it just feels like a building.

A building with barbed-wire fences and armed guards, but still, a building.

Scott leads me silently through a side door, where a heavy-set security guard is sitting behind a desk. Scott signs us in and surrenders his weapon before we step through a metal detector. Then, theres a lot of paperwork, and a lot of waiting. We sit side by side, not talking, staring straight ahead.

It occurs to me, suddenly, how much I wish that Kurt were here right now. My first instinct had been to leave him behind for his own safety, but Id forgotten how desperately I need him when Im afraid. I wish I could hold his hand, feel his reassuring warmth beside me. He would know what to say to set my nerves at ease. Im sitting tensely, trying to shore up the courage to face my demon – literally – and all of my courage is sitting in a safehouse back in Kentucky.

A blank-faced woman in a dark suit approaches at a quick pace, her heels clacking loudly on the concrete floor. "Marshal Scott Ward?" she asks as she reaches us.

Scott stands up. "Yes. Thats me."

"Im Janine Giordano, Mr. Castellanos attorney." She doesnt even glance at me as they shake hands stiffly.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Scott begins. "We–"

"Thank my client," she interrupts. "Hes meeting with your witness against advice of counsel. And there are stipulations to the meeting."

"What kind of stipulations?" he asks warily.

"First, Mr. Castellano will only meet with Mr. Sanders in private. You are not allowed to be present for the meeting. Nor am I, for that matter."

Scotts jaw tightens in displeasure. "Why?"

"Because thats how he wants it," she replies flatly. "Remember, hes under no obligation to meet with your witness. Those are his conditions; take them or leave them."

"Well..." He swallows, looking at me. "I guess as long as there are guards there in case something goes wrong–"

"Private means private, Marshal. My client will only meet with Mr. Sanders if they are completely alone together."

Theres a sudden, sharp pain in my shoulder as Scott grabs my upper arm and yanks me roughly to my feet. "You know what? This is bullshit. Were leaving," he growls through gritted teeth, glaring at the lawyer. "I should have known this was a mistake–"

"As I said, take them or–"

"Lady, if you think Im going to leave my witness in a room with that crazy–"

"Scott, stop," I say firmly, twisting my arm out of his grasp. "I need to meet with him."

"He killed two men point-blank, Perfecto. And dozens more–"

"And were in a maximum security prison. I assume Mr. Castellano will be handcuffed, right?" I ask Ms. Giordano, who nods.

"Can you give us a minute?" Scott asks tightly. She looks annoyed, but wanders down the hallway away from us. "Listen," he says to me urgently, his voice fading down to a whisper. "I dont like this. Somethings not right here."

"Yeah, Im about to have a meeting with a Mafia godfather. Thats never going to feel right."

"I know you hate me. Hell, I hate you back half the time. But dont do this just because youre pissed at me. I cant protect you like this."

"I dont hate you," I tell him. "And Im not doing this to spite you."

"Lets just leave," he pleads. "We can forget this ever happened. Ill find another place to hide you and Kurt. Somewhere more isolated, where you wont have to worry–"

"Dont you get it?" I interject. "I always have to worry. Its all I do anymore. I worry about whether Kurt will still be there when I get back. I worry that my parents cover has been blown. I worry that Burts heart wont be able to take the stress of going into hiding. I havent had a good nights sleep since I was twelve, Scott. I cant walk down the street without listening for footsteps behind me, or watching for people lurking in the shadows. I just want to be able to live a normal life again. I want my family to be able to live normal lives, too. And the only way I can make that happen is by meeting with Marco Castellano, here and now."

"Still..." Scott looks torn.

"Its a power play," I insist. "Hes stuck in prison for the rest of his life, unable to make any decisions of his own, and then he hears that I want to meet with him. So he makes some ridiculous demands just to feel like he still has some power. Let him stay deluded, as long as I get to meet with him."

A prison official and two guards approach us, and Scott finally nods reluctantly to me in accession. He sits back down, Ms. Giordano coming back to stand near him. I know hes watching as I follow the official down the hallway.

We dont see any inmates on the way, but with the two guards right on my heels, I cant help feeling like Im a prisoner. "Now, youre only permitted to meet with Mr. Castellano for ten minutes," the official says to me briskly as we walk. "His hands and feet will be cuffed. Do not approach the prisoner at any time. Knock twice on the door if you want to leave the room before the ten minutes have elapsed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

I imagined one of those little two-way telephone booths when I pictured our meeting, but Castellano is waiting in a regular conference room, already seated at a long table. Theres a small black box sitting on the table in front of him, and I recognize it as a device to keep recorders from working in the vicinity. Must have been another one of his conditions. Taking a deep breath, I enter the room, trying not to flinch when I hear the door close behind me with a click.

He looks older and thinner than the last time I saw him. His face looks wearier. His eyes are just as sharp, though, and they watch me closely.

"Long time no see, boy."

I pull out a chair and sit down, maintaining a healthy distance. My heart is racing, to the point where my chest is starting to hurt. "Yeah, Ive been too busy to visit, sorry."

"So I hear." He is indeed cuffed, to my relief, but Im still nervous. There are plenty of things he could do to me without the use of his hands. Im starting to understand why Scott didnt want me in here alone. "Tell me, hows New York this time of year?"

"Cold. Windy."

"Windy, yeah. I hear your bathroom window had quite a draft. You should really talk to your super about that. George, isnt it?"

Hes trying to frighten me, trying to get the upper hand. I force myself to meet his gaze with a bravado I dont feel. "How about your cell? Nice and toasty?"

"Im comfortable. Unlike you right now. "

"Im perfectly comfortable," I shoot back. "And when Im done, I can walk right out that door a free man. Unlike you."

"A free man." Castellano smiles, slowly. "Yes, thats right. Youve got to get back to Kentucky, dont you?" I can feel my blood run cold as he speaks. "Maybe your Marshal will let you call your folks in Florida on the way back. Though their phone service has been pretty spotty lately, from what Ive heard. But yes, youve got to hurry back to Kentucky. Fast as you can."

Its taking every bit of my self-control not to bolt from the room. "You dont scare me," I claim.

"Oh, I terrify you," he corrects me. "And you dont even have any idea how much I already know. About where you are, and whos with you." He leans back a little, smirking. "I have to say, I was surprised. I mean, I knew you were a queer, we all did, but I didnt know you would... go that extreme. If he were any girlier, hed be a girl."

"Dont talk about him."

"Who, Kurt?" He runs his tongue over his yellowed teeth. "Pretty little Kurt, all alone and defenseless?"

"Hes not alone. Or defenseless."

"Right, right. Hes got a U.S. Marshal with him." Castellano says with a smirk. "You think I dont have U.S. Marshals in my pocket, kid? How do you you think you ended up with Scott Ward, of all people? You think that was a coincidence?"

I keep my face carefully blank. "Scotts not in your pocket."

He throws back his head and laughs, loud and long. "Thats hilarious. Not in my pocket. Oh, thats rich."

"Hes not."

"Well, of course hes not, you moron. The Marshals on my payroll are actually competent."

"He–"

"You ended up with Scott Ward," he interrupts, "because I made it happen. Hes the embarrassment of the entire Marshal Service." He looks me right in the eye, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "The organization used to brag about their success rate. Plastered it all over the place; No witness security program participant, who followed security guidelines, has been harmed while under the active protection of the U.S. Marshals. I memorized it, Perfecto. Want to know why?" He grins. "Because they dont get to say it anymore."

"If you think I dont already know about Billy Rice, youre wrong."

"Im sure you do know. It was big news back then. The ten-year-old son of a federal witness, gunned down by–"

"I said I know."

Castellano nods. "Marshal Ward slipped up. He got sloppy, and disgraced the entire organization. So when it came time for my contacts to choose your Marshal, I made sure that you were paired with him. I made sure you got the worst possible agent."

"If thats true, then you made a mistake," I tell him, folding my hands on the table in front of me. "Because you paired me with the one Marshal with something to prove. The one Marshal whod do anything to try and keep me safe. The one Marshal whod actually put up with my demands and–"

"Why are you here?" he hisses. "Is it to flaunt the fact that youre still alive? Because believe me, boy, one snap of my fingers and–"

"Notice you havent, though. You know where I am, you know where my parents are, and yet youve never snapped those fingers. Why is that?" He just stares at me, so I continue. "You must have known that we were vulnerable. You must have known that you couldve had us by the throats and squeezed until we cried uncle–"

"I knew it." He spits to the side. "Fuck. I knew thats what this was about."

"What did you think, that we didnt see? That we wouldnt tell?" I shake my head. "Weve got leverage, Marco. You know it, and I know it."

Castellano watches me appraisingly. "Youve got nothing. Unless you got something on film – which we both know you didnt – theres no proof."

"Legally? Yeah, youre right. Thats one of the reasons my dad and I never brought it up at the trial. We didnt have any proof, and wed be painting an even bigger target on our backs if we testified that a U.S. Senator was on the yacht with you that day. But you and I both know that your nephew was there. He stood and watched while you murdered those men. And while he didnt pull the trigger, he didnt report it, either. And that makes him an accessory to murder."

"Which you cant prove," he says again.

I smile humorlessly. "But I dont have to prove it. All I have to do is call up the New York Times and tell them what I saw. What my dad and I both saw. And it will be all be over for your nephew. The race for governor, the Senate seat, all of it."

"Are you really trying to threaten me? Youre out of your element, Perfecto."

"You may know where I am, and where my family is, but you cant touch us. Because if you do, weve made arrangements for recorded statements of what really happened to be mailed to all major media outlets. And if you think it will hurt your nephews political career for this to surface now, imagine how the public will react if it comes out after were dead." I raise both eyebrows. "Youre so close to having a West Coast Mafia member as governor. You really want to jeopardize that?"

Castellano sneers at me. "Is that what you think? That Victors in the Mafia?"

"He was there, on the–"

"I know he was there. But hes not a member."

I shake my head. "Its all the same–"

"Its not, though. He was there that day because we were trying to entice him to join. All Victor had to do was shoot the two snitches." He sighs. "He wouldnt do it, though. Said it went against his morals. He tried to get me not to do it, but... well... lets just say I dont have a problem with morals. That was the day Victor broke ties with the Castellano family for good."

"So why do you care what happens to him, then? Why are you protecting him?"

"Hes family," Castellano says slowly, as if Im stupid. "Hes my blood, and hes a senator. And hell be governor one day."

"Youre proud," I realize. "Youre proud that hes legit."

He glares at the table sullenly. "Its hard to shake our family reputation. But Victor is a good man. The only time hes ever broken the law is when he didnt report me for the hits. I dont want to see him sunk by the choices Ive made."

"Then lets make a deal today, Marco. Lets protect Victor together. I want my familys safety, and Kurts familys safety, in exchange for our silence."

This makes him pause, and blink at me. "Wait... thats what youre here for?"

"Yes. Thats all I want."

He looks bewildered, like he expected me to ask for more. Maybe hes used to wild demands for cash or favors. But money and power dont interest me; thats the biggest difference between me and Marco Castellano. "The hit orders are already out there," he says. "The West Coast Mafia doesnt just reverse a hit. It doesnt work like that."

"Who says you have to reverse it? You put out a new photo with the hit order, and a couple of days later, spread the word that the hit has been carried out. You claim you awarded someone the million-dollar bounty – someone you trust, someone whose silence you can buy. And once people think the hits been made, theyll stop looking for us."

He cocks his head and squints at me, thinking. "Even if that did work, even if did call off the search dogs... no ones ever really safe. You could get mugged walking down the street in New York. Your fairy friend–"

"Husband."

"Your husband could get sideswiped by a car. There are a million different ways someone could accidentally be killed."

"And youd better pray none of them happen to any of us. Or my husbands family. Because Ill assume its you, even if its not."

Hes silent for a long time. Im holding my breath, hoping against hope that hes actually considering it. "So all you want is for the hit orders to be removed. Thats it."

"Thats it."

"And you and your father wont tell anyone about Victor."

I nod firmly. Its not a deal that my conscience is fully comfortable with, but it keeps our families safe – something mine hasnt been in thirteen years. "Youre a smart man, Marco. You know that the media is going to focus in on the West Coast Mafias connection to Victor, now that his run for governor has begun in earnest. And if theres still a hit out on a witness who testified at the age of twelve, it doesnt look good for your nephew. No matter how much he tries to distance himself from you."

Its clear from his face that hes been thinking the same thing. "This still doesnt get me vengeance, though," he says, wavering. "For what you did to me."

"No," I agree. "But weve suffered. My family, and Kurt, and his family too. Weve paid a price."

He blows out a long breath. "Fine... fine, youve got a deal."

My pulse is racing out of control, and I struggle to stay calm. "How long till you can get the wheels in motion? Pay someone off and get the word out that the hits been filled?"

"A day, maybe two." I guess my surprise shows, because he adds, "Dont forget who I am. I can make anything happen."

"I know." I get to my feet and look at him. He seems smaller, suddenly. "Thank you, Marco."

He nods stiffly. "I have to say, youve changed a lot. You remind me of someone else at your age."

"Please dont say its you."

"No, actually. You remind me of Victor."

I dont have a response for that, so I cross over to the door, knocking twice loudly. A guard opens it to let me out, and I set off down the hallway. Two quick turns and I reach Scott, running past him as he rises to his feet. Through the metal detectors, and out the door, and Im outside. Outside and free. I take a deep breath of fresh air, and think about Kurt, and New York, and Milan, and possibilities.