“You texted Garcia for help?" Jack gritted out. "Garcia? Not me?" "He has a gun." "So do I." "He's steady and reliable," I said. "He doesn't disappear for eight months. He doesn't go on business trips that require burner phones and secret codes. He doesn't refuse to tell me what he does for a living. I texted HELP and I knew he'd come. I wasn't sure about you." "You don't think I would have come if you'd texted me for help?" Indignation laced Jack's tone. "For all I knew, you were being tossed out a window in Rio, tortured by the Italian Mafia in Tuscany, or you were in the North Sea trapped in a Russian submarine." "The Italian Mafia are based in Sicily," he corrected me. "Tuscany doesn't have the port access they need for the drug trade." I folded my arms and sighed. "You missed the point entirely.” ExesSicilyItalian MafiaLovers SpatLife Of A Spy Book:'Til Heist Do Us Part Source: 'Til Heist Do Us Part