"Give her time," Vittoria says quietly. "Let Marina calm her down. Then we figure out how to fix this."
Time. The one thing I don't have.
Although she's probably right.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Sophia
The cold water stings my swollen eyes as I splash it against my face again.
I grip the edge of the sink, counting my breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The porcelain feels solid under my palms.
Through the thin apartment walls, I hear Marina's voice, sharp and protective.
Lorenzo called. Of course he did. My chest tightens at the thought of him on the other end of that phone.
The call ends with Marina's angry goodbye. Part of me wants to feel grateful that she's protecting me, keeping him away. But another part wonders if his calling means something. He wanted to come here. To see me.
I grab the hand towel, rough terry cloth against my skin. The fabric smells like Marina's lavender detergent.
A knock echoes through the apartment.
"Finally!" Marina calls out. "Pizza's here. I'm starving."
Right. She ordered food minutes ago, insisting I needed to eat even though the thought of food makes my stomach turn. I dry my face carefully, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown. Marina doesn't need to worry more than she already is.
The knocking comes again, harder this time.
"Coming!" Marina's footsteps move toward the door.
I hang the towel back on its hook, straightening it twice out of habit. Mom always said a tidy house meant a tidy mind. If only it were that simple.
Something feels wrong.
The thought creeps in slowly, like ice water down my spine. Marina's footsteps stopped. But I hear no cheerful exchange with the delivery person.
Nothing.
I press my ear against the bathroom door. The apartment has gone completely silent. Not even the hum of Marina's ancient refrigerator or the neighbor's TV bleeding through the walls.
"Marina?" My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
No answer.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. Every instinct Lorenzo drilled into me during training screams danger. The silence isn't natural. It's the kind that comes before violence, the held breath before the strike.
But this is Marina's apartment. We're in Lincoln Park, not some warehouse on the South Side. The pizza delivery guy is probably just counting change right?
The doorknob feels cold under my palm. I turn it slowly, silently, the way Lorenzo taught me. "Never announce your presence," he'd said during one of our sessions. "Surprise is your best advantage."
The bathroom door opens without a sound. I peer through the crack into Marina's living room.
Empty.
The apartment stretches before me, too quiet. Marina's purse sits on the coffee table. Her phone beside it, screen dark.
My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood as I step out of the bathroom. The hallway to Marina's bedroom is only ten feet away. If I can just get there, get to what she keeps in her nightstand?—
