My grandfather returns from his golf outing looking so robust and healthy that I'm kicking myself for not insisting sooner that he take some time for himself.

"You must have shot a great game," I say, in response to his happy demeanor.

"Worst game I ever shot in my life," he says with a grin. Ended up in two sand traps, lost three balls to water hazards, and missed a putt I should have been able to sink with my eyes closed. It was fabulous!"

"If you say so . . ."

"Hadley, the game of golf is not like riding a bike. You don't just jump back in after not playing for a long time and expect all your skills to magically come back."

"But you had fun."

"I did. And I have you to thank for that."

"Let's make a deal," I say, "that you do this - golf or some other activity - once a week. You need it."

"Well, I wouldn't promise once a week, but maybe twice a month."

"Okay," I say, but I'm going to try to get him out weekly. I realize that for some time now his entire life has been working and caregiving. "You need breaks like these to recharge. It makes you better at taking care of her," I say softly.

Then I look at him closely and am sorry to see the pain back in his eyes.

"It's just . . . I don't know how much longer I'll have her."

My heart breaks for him. I can't even imagine the pain of slowly losing the person you've been with for close to 50 years.

"If you don't take care of yourself," I remind him, "you can't be your best for her."

"I know." His gaze wanders toward the staircase.

"She's resting. We had a lovely morning in the garden. Then she took a nap, then we had lunch, and now she's resting again. Why don't you go up with her now and relax?"

"I think I will." He starts toward the stairs, then turns back. "Thank you, Hadley."

As he heads upstairs I think again that it's not right for him and my father to stay so estranged. I need to do something to fix that. Even if my father still insists on painting Andrew as the villain in our lives, Andrew lost his only daughter, missed the first 25 years of his granddaughter's life, and has a son-in-law who vehemently hates him. And now his wife is slipping away from him more each day.

Whatever happened in the past, hasn't he suffered enough?

Just as I'm wondering what I'm going to do with myself the rest of the day my phone buzzes with a text message. Immediately I think Max. Then I chide myself for being so pathetic. Of course it's not Max. He's off in New York at some secret meeting with Gino. There's no reason he'd be texting me.

I pull out my phone and look at the screen, a little surprised to see that the message is from Angelica. She wants to know whether I'm free tonight, and if I'd like to meet her for dinner and then go out to a club.

I jump on it.

We arrange where to meet, and then I struggle with what to wear that work for dinner and also clubbing.

I decide to call her instead of texting again, and she suggests we go someplace casual, and I just bring along an outfit for clubbing to change into at her place.

Her place, I realize, where she's currently staying, is Max's family home. I hesitate, and Angelica apparently realizes what I'm thinking.

"He won't be there," she assures me. "Max is still in New York and we don't expect him back until sometime early next week."

"I know," I tell her. "Martina mentioned he's in New York. It just feels weird, you know, going to his house."

"Well, you just have to get over that," Angelica says, and she's right. I do.

"In fact," she says, "why don't you just come over now? Bring your bathing suit and we'll hang out by the pool, maybe stay in for dinner. Rina loves to have someone to cook for."

"I don't know." It feels weird going to Max's house for dinner, even though he won't be there. I remember the only time I ever went to his house, and the things he shared with me when I saw the portrait of his mother.

I also remember how I was just about to get some information about the past from Rina, when Max interrupted us. I don't know what he said to her afterward or if she'd even tell me anything again. But maybe it won't hurt to go over there and just see what happens.

Plus, I do like Angelica, despite - or maybe even because of - that air of innocence she has about her, despite growing up in a Mafia family.

I wonder how things are going with her and if she's still seeing Benedicto. Max seemed so sure it was just another one of her brief romances. But after seeing them together that day at the restaurant before Max and Vincenzo showed up, I'm not so sure.

"Oh, come on," she says. "I'm bored and it sounds like you are, too. Come on over."

"Okay. You convinced me."

I leave a brief note for my grandfather, and then go pick out a dress and shoes to go clubbing. I hesitate over what bathing suit to bring, and then see the bikini Max bought for me in New York. When else am I going to wear it? I put it in my straw bag, and grab a hat with an oversize brim and my sunglasses, since it's still just the middle of the afternoon - the hottest time of day in Miami. I add a gauzy long-sleeved cover-up shirt, a sun dress, a pair of sandals and my SPF 50 sunscreen, and I'm good to go.

I head back downstairs, and decide to leave my car and just get an Uber, since I'm planning on drinking by the pool and at the club, but before I can summon one, a gleaming dark red classic Bentley pulls into the driveway. I come out the door, closing it behind me as the car pulls up. I peer through the window. Is that Enzo, in a chauffer's cap? It is.

He gets out and walks around the car and opens the back door for me.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hadley," he says, with so much dignity I almost want to giggle. It's just so incongruous, this older man who I know was such an integral part of Max's father's sometimes violent and always risky world, now playing the chauffeur for me for a day at the pool instead of getting behind the wheel of a getaway car.

"Thank, you, Enzo, I didn't expect-" I start as I allow him to hold my straw bag and hat while I get in the car. Then I stop and give a short laugh. Angelica is inside, grinning at me.

"We thought we'd come pick you up in style."

"This certainly is that," I say. "I never thought I'd be riding in a car like this. It's like stepping into a piece of history." Incredibly wealthy history. I once looked cup the cost of a Bentley just out of curiously when the car kept being mentioned in a British novel I was reading. I was shocked to find out that some of the new models this year cost over $200,000 dollars.

"This car has always been a particular favorite of Mr. Bennett," Enzo says, as he gets back into the driver's seat. "I take it out now and then just to keep it in good running condition."

"And it's my favorite," Angelica says.

"Yes," Enzo adds, "Miss Angelica is quite appreciative of the Bentley." He suns a hand lightly across the dashboard, almost as if stroking a living thing. His eyes, when I catch a look at his face in the rear-view mirror, seem distant, like he's thinking of other times, other places.

I realize, with a sudden pang of empathy, that Enzo is keeping this car pristine because he hopes that despite receiving consecutive life sentences, Maxwell Bennett Sr. will actually return home someday and ride in it again.

"It's a beautiful car," I say, which somehow seems insufficient praise.

"Crazy, right?" Angelica says.

As Enzo pulls the car onto the ferry she turns to me. "How do you like living on an island like this? Does it bother you, having to take the ferry across, all the security for people coming and going?"

"It's just . . . different," I tell her. "I didn't grow up like that."

She nods. "Yeah, I might as well have. Uncle Gino's house isn't on an island, but it's like a fortress getting in. Or out. It used to be so embarrassing when I was younger and parents of my friends had to practically get a background check at the gate just to stop by and drop off or pick up."

"That sounds like it would be hard to grow up like that. The only rule I had was I had to check in with my dad and always have my cell phone with me. I was the first kid in elementary school to get one. But I knew it was just so my dad could check up on me" Then I wince, remembering the whole issue when Angelica ditched her cell phone in the bathroom at Max's club and spent the weekend with Benedicto.

"Uncle Gino was always worried one of his enemies would try to kidnap me," she says matter-of-factly.

"Were you worried about that?" I ask, and she shrugs.

"You get used to. When something is just part of your life, it doesn't make sense to waste time worrying about it."

"Yeah, well, Max and Vincenzo seemed pretty worried when they caught up with you that day. And pretty angry." I'm thinking that Vincenzo, with his cold killer eyes, is not someone I would want angry with me, ever.

She just shrugs and laughs. "Vinnie's like a mother hen sometimes," she says, and I just gape at her.

When we get to the estate, Rina comes out to greet us, obviously happy to see me again. I wonder if Max has said anything about us not seeing each other anymore. Probably not. Max doesn't seem to share information about his personal life, even with the people closest to him.

"Miss Hadley, welcome back," she says, ushering us into the house. "Why don't you girls get changed and head out to the pool. I'll bring some refreshments."

"Rina," Angelica says, "you don't have to pamper us." She pauses and smiles. "But I appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all," Rina says, heading back toward the kitchen.

Almost as soon as Angelica and I stretch out on two cushioned chaises, side by side, with a small table between us, Rina is back with icy drinks and a charcuterie board with fancy cheeses, crackers, and fruit that would put any five star restaurant to shame. She also brings an assortment of these amazing little tarts filled with jam.

I take a sip of my drink, while Rina watches. "Mmm, what is this? It's delicious."

It's my special recipe for cranberry Margaritas," Rina says.

"Sooo good." And I can already tell it packs a punch. I look over at Angelica. "A few more of these and you won't be able get me out to a club tonight."

"Rina makes the best cranberry Margaritas," Angelica says, smiling at the older woman. "And right now," she says, stretching he limbs on the comfy chaise and looking out over the pool and the carefully manicured grounds, "I'm in no hurry to go anywhere."

"You girls just let me know if you need anything. You'll be staying for dinner, Miss Hadley." It's not a request as much as a command, and I nod.

"I'd love to."

Rina heads back into the house, and I turn toward Angelica again. I'm about to ask her if she's still seeing Benedicto, but she speaks first.

"So what's up with you and Max?" she asks me.

"Nothing," I respond. "We broke up."

"I'm sure there's more to the story than that," she says, but then is cut off when her phone buzzes. She looks at the screen, and her face just kind of lights up. "It's Bento," she says, and her voice just sounds so young. "I'll be right back."

She hurries off for some privacy on her call, and I guess that answers one question - she's obviously still seeing him.

But someone else can answer the questions I still have. And with Max out of town this is the perfect opportunity to ask Rina what she was going to tell me when Max interrupted us last time.

I pick up my drink and go into the kitchen and find her there, chopping up some vegetables that I assume will be part of whatever she is preparing for dinner tonight.

I slide onto a stool at the massive kitchen island, and set my Margarita down. She looks over at me quizzically.

"Angelica got a call," I tell her, "so I'm giving her some privacy."

An expression crosses her fact that might be relief. But it's short lived. Her expression changes to one of concern as I say, "We were interrupted last time I was here. Rina, I need to know what happened at the meeting all those years ago that you started to tell me about. The meeting that changed things forever between Max's father and my grandfather."

"Oh, Dios Mio," she says, setting her chopping knife down to make the sign of the cross. "Why do you have to ask me that?"

"Why? Because for my entire life, my father and my grandfather have not spoken to each other. I think it has something to do with what happened that day. I need answers, Rina. I need them now."

"Very well," she says, brushing her hands on her apron and then sitting down on one of the stools across from me. "I believe the past is best left in the past. But if you insist, I will tell you."