“You have any advice?” I ask, my voice weak and hoarse from all the screaming. I watch her freeze from the corner of my eye. She collects herself and then resumes blending her concealer, clearing her throat. “Cover your tracks,” she says quietly, her Russian accent prominent. She has a beautiful voice, and Rocco's friends thinks so, too. “And run only when necessary. It isn’t about how far you can get; it’s about making sure they never find you.
