Half an hour later, we were back at the airport. Another one of Andrea's men had driven us and left us. I had no idea where he was taking me, of course, because why would I get to know details like that.
The air in the terminal was thick and hot. Every breath I took of it filled me with an unpleasant warmth that clung to me and suffocated me. My stomach was sickened by the musk that lingered in my nose and when Andrea's fingers wrapped around my wrist, it lurched.
"Remember, your son is a phone call away before you consider making a scene," he whispered as we reached the front of the line for the ticket counter. "Don't think I wouldn't do it."
I nodded.
"I think a lot of things about you, Andrea but not once have I underestimated your intentions," I replied, trying to ignore the nausea from my stomach and the dizziness in my head.
"You think a lot about me? All good I presume?" He said as we approached the woman at the desk.