Page 32 of Sacred Blood

I slept. When I woke up, I ate. Then I slept some more. My body seemed determined to reclaim every hour of rest I'd sacrificed over the previous year.

The second day, panic set in. I demanded answers. Demanded my phone. Demanded to leave. None of it got me anywhere. The guards remained polite but immovable.

The doors remained locked. And Gaetano remained frustratingly absent. By the third day, boredom became my greatest enemy. There were books. Television. A small gym. Even a beautiful garden enclosed by high stone walls. It should have felt luxurious. Instead, it felt like a very comfortable prison.

I spent hours walking the property under the watchful eyes of whichever guard had drawn the short straw that day. Vincent was my favorite.

Not because he told me anything useful, but at least he occasionally smiled at my jokes.

The others treated me like a fragile package that might explode if handled incorrectly.

By day four, I started journaling.

At first, I wrote down facts.

Names.

Dates.

Memories.

Anything that might help me understand how I'd ended up here. Then the journal became something else. A place to record questions.

Questions about Red.

Questions about my father.

Questions about my mother.

Questions about myself.

Each answer seemed to create three new mysteries.

By day five, I told myself it was because I wanted information. That I was tired of being treated like a child. That was a lie. Because I found myself watching the driveway. Listening for engines, and rushing to the window when I heard one. Disappointment became a cloak while I waited for news. While I waited for him, Gaetano. The realization irritated me enough to throw my journal across the room. A guard retrieved it and politely handed it back without comment.

By day six, even my anger had begun to wear thin.

Fear settled into the empty spaces it left behind.

Not fear for myself.

Not entirely. Fear that everything I'd believed about my life had been a lie. And that Red, the only person I’d ever considered a friend, had never truly been one.

Fear that my father had somehow known exactly where I would run. Every possibility seemed worse than the last and by day seven, I was exhausted.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

I wanted answers.

I wanted my freedom. And more than anything, I wanted Gaetano to stop disappearing every time things became complicated. I’d been given a lot of time to think about Red, my father and my role in this possible charade. I still didn’t believe I was a pawn in a massive scheme to undo the controlling powers that be. I wasn’t raised to be anything special, despite being aware that I had a role to play.

But one thing did haunt me and as soon as Tano showed up to visit me, I would discuss it with him. My mother never fought my father on any of his rulings against her concerning me. At the time, I’d just assumed it was because his word was law, and she was obedient to the head of our household, but what if there was another reason?

Growing up, we’d never met my mother’s family. We were told they had died when she was young and I never questioned it. I knew only that my mother claimed to be from northern Italy, which explained her lighter coloring and blondish accents. But what if she wasn’t Italian at all? Every aspect of my family and life was now suspect, and I examined the pieces as they came to me, making notes in a journal I’d requested until restlessness overcame me.

I paced the confines of my room for a time, but movement only exacerbated my anxiety. I couldn’t do this anymore. I needed a distraction.