And I will make them wish they had never heard the name Sartori.
Antonella
They took my shoes. I don't know why. Maybe to make running harder. Maybe just because they could.
My eyes burn. Heavy. The kind of tired that seeps into your bones and makes everything feel distant and unreal.
I can't sleep.
I won't sleep.
The guard sits in the corner, scrolling through his phone. The blue light from the screen illuminates his face in the darkness. He hasn't looked at me in twenty minutes.
I shift in the chair, trying to find a position that doesn't make my shoulders scream. The zip ties bite into my wrists every time I move. My left hand throbs where they cut off my ring. The bleeding has stopped, but the wound pulses with my heartbeat.
Close your eyes.
No.
I can't. If I close my eyes, I might drift off. And if I drift off, I won't know what's happening. I won't be ready.
Ready for what?
I don't know. But I need to stay awake.
I focus on my breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Slow and steady.
The memory surfaces before I can stop it.
I was seven. Maybe eight. A summer storm had rolled in from the lake, the kind that turned the sky green and made the windows rattle in their frames. I'd crawled into my parents' bed, wedging myself between them like I could disappear into their warmth.
"Shh, bambina." Mama's voice was soft. Her hand stroked my hair. "It's just noise. The thunder can't hurt you."
"But it's so loud."
"Loud doesn't mean dangerous." She pulled me closer. "Sometimes the loudest things are the most harmless. It's the quiet ones you have to watch."
Papa had grumbled something about letting me sleep in my own bed, but he'd wrapped his arm around both of us anyway. I fell asleep to the sound of rain against the windows and my mother's heartbeat beneath my ear.
The memory aches.
I push it away. Find another one.
I was old enough to walk Gianna to her first day of high school while Mama stayed home with Claudio, who had the flu. Gianna had insisted on wearing her favorite dress even though it was too cold for it.
"What if no one likes me?" she'd asked, her small hand gripping mine so tight her knuckles went white.
"Everyone will like you."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're you." I'd crouched down to her level, straightening the collar of her coat. "And anyone who doesn't like you is stupid."
She'd giggled at that. Gianna always giggled when I said words I wasn't supposed to say.
"Will you pick me up?"
"I'll be right here at three o'clock."