“Good.”
“What did you tell her?”I ask.
“That I was having a panic attack and was overwhelmed.Not a lie.”
My heart aches hearing what Harper is going through.I pull her tighter, closer, wrapping my arms around her.Her damn coat is in the way, but I don’t care.My fingers move to her cheek, caressing the soft skin as I run my fingers into her hair, pulling her lips closer to mine.“We’re in this together,” I whisper.
She shivers and smiles weakly.“Yeah, I know.”
“Let’s get you back inside if you’re cold.”
I escort her back into the house.It’s several degrees warmer, and already I’m sweating from the sudden flux in temperature.
I strip out of my jacket and shoes, Harper doing the same.
We waltz past the kitchen, and I pause when I hear Nova’s voice and catch the back of Moreno’s head as we’re heading in their direction.They’re standing several doors down, and I yank Harper with me into the open bathroom, not wanting to interrupt them.
I hold a finger over my lips, gesturing to remain quiet and still.
“Since when are you in the business of kidnapping children?”Nova asks, glaring at her father.
Fourteen
Nova
It’s impossible to live under the roof of the mafia and not have an inkling of what’s going on.You’d have to be absolutely stupid.
I’ve lived in this same house all my life, or at least all that I can remember.
My mother died when I was a child, the memories still vivid, but with flashes of blood that blur the lines of reality encased in trauma.
Years of therapy when I was a kid helped me unpack some of it, but of course, the therapist wasn’t your average shrink.
She worked for my father, Moreno Ricci.
Trust is one of those things that, once it begins to crumble, can never be perfectly whole again.And while I trust my father, I don’t trust him implicitly.
I know he does bad things.
He’s not a good man, but he’s been good to me.
He brought Paige into my life; my stepmother, who helped me through the losses and made me realize that my father isn’t a monster, he’s just a man.
Which makes it easier for me to stand up to him, even if it’s foolish and stupid.
“I can’t believe you!”I seethe, practically growling at him.
I made sure no one else is around when I would begin my own interrogation.
He stands there, staring at me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“You sound just like your mother,” he says, his tone soft, but it strikes a chord within me, and I suspect it does him as well.
I don’t ask if he means my stepmom Paige or my biological mother, whom I barely remember.The only memories I carry of her are the gruesome ones of her murder.
“That’s not fair,” I say.He’s trying to disarm me emotionally.I’m not some little kid who runs around this place with their head in the clouds.
I see what’s happening, and I know far more than I let on.I’ve also learned silence keeps me out of trouble.One reason I was mute as a little girl.If I couldn’t say anything, I couldn’t be harmed.
