Page 31

The sharpness of my voice tore through my throat. I tried to sit up, but pain pinned me back. Panic climbed over it, stronger than the bruises, stronger than the fever and every sensible command Sister Joanne had given me to go easy on my body.

“No police,” I breathed.

He would hand me to some officer and by nightfall, the Coccicos would know where I was. They would walk through the door and put a bullet in my head, no doubt.

Father Demitri’s expression remained controlled, but his eyes sharpened.

“No police. But you need protection,” he countered.

“I need to disappear is what I need.”

“What are you running from, my girl?” Sister Marina regarded me with her soft yet curious gaze.

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Father. On the floor. His hand reaching. His eyes finding mine.

Run, Adriana. Run!

Sister Joanne gently touched my shoulder. “Breathe.”

I had stopped. I dragged air into my lungs and nearly cried out from the pain.

Father Demitri came closer, slowly. “Tell us what happened.”

I shook my head.

“Adriana.” Sister Marina leaned forward. “Was your father involved with these men?”

I looked at her. I wanted to lie. For father. And for myself. For the last version of my life where my father was my protector and not a man with secrets large enough to get us both killed.

“Yes.”

The word came out meek, broken. I was so ashamed.

Father Demitri’s gaze did not leave my face.

“What was his name?” he asked.

“Gabriele Serra.”

His eyes flickered like he knew the name and was trying to place it. A fresh thread of fear pulled tight inside me. I pulled the blanket higher, as if it could protect me from the shape this night was taking.

“My father was the Coccico money man. He managed their accounts. I believed the worst thing he had done was hide taxable income from the authorities.” A bitter sound scraped out of me as I swallowed again. “He found something. I don’t know all of it. Something about human trafficking; he told me he gathered the information he could, then he took it to someone who could help.”

“The police?” Father Demitri asked.

I nodded. My eyes burned. “He went to them three days ago. He was nervous when he came home. He kept checking the windows. He was terrified something was going to happen to him. I asked who, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

My fingers twisted in the blanket.

“I don’t think he believed it would get as big or as deadly as it did.”

“What happened, child?” Sister Marina asked, after my pause seemed to stretch on forever.

Almost absentmindedly, my hand moved to my throat. There was nothing there. Panic ripped through me.

“It’s gone.”