Chapter 2

Chiara

The words swim in my head until I feel faint. I grab the door of my locker, feeling like I just got punched in the gut. After a while, the words start to sink in, and I manage to find my voice again.

“A . . . scholarship?” I echo. “But how?”

Dad laughs louder on the other end, and I feel even more thrown.

“Is this a prank?” I ask him suspiciously. “Dad, I swear to God, if you got on drugs again, I will--”

“Darling, no.” His smile is very apparent even from this side of the phone call. “I met someone at the . . . casino,” he mumbles. “His name is Alessio de Marco. He, uh, has some connections in the University of Catania, so I tried to hook you up over a game of cards. He talked to his supervisor, and they need one more beneficiary for their program. You’re going back to college!”

My eyes go wide in surprise. "Is this true? Is this really happening?"

"Yes, my love." His voice softens. "I know I haven't been great to you, but I didn't forget what you want. And now I can finally give it to you."

"Thank you," I whisper, closing my eyes and squeezing the phone in excitement. "I'll be there in a moment."

As fast as lightning, I change my clothes and erase every bit of makeup on my face. I gather all my things, and with that, I’m off to our old house in a taxi.

I’m so happy I can’t stop smiling. I don’t know much about the University of Catania, but I know that it’s a good university. As the taxi swerves in the small streets, I can’t help but close my eyes and imagine what it would be like. Full scholarship in a good school. Going to classes, and hanging out with new friends. Not having to go out every night to a strip club. Not avoiding my dad like a plague. . . .

Maybe he’s actually getting his life together now. He landed me a scholarship.

I pay the driver with some of my crumpled bills as he stops in front of our house, and I immediately run to the front door. I test the knob and see that it’s not locked, so I barge right in with a smile on my face.

But I don’t see Dad.

Standing in the living room are about a dozen tall men in suits with guns strapped to their sides, looking at me with malice in their eyes.

I stand by the door frozen, one foot through the door and one hand stuck on the surface. The men just stare at me, but I can tell by the way they’re tensed up that they’re going to lunge at me if I try to move.

“Dad?” I try to say, my voice shaking. “Dad, where are you?”

Footsteps shuffle from inside and suddenly Dad appears. I almost step back when I see the bruises on his face. His nose is broken, and I see that he’s missing one tooth as he smiles at me.

My pulse is racing. My gaze keeps darting back and forth from Dad to the men.

“Come in,” he says, letting out a nervous laugh. “They’re just . . . friends.”

“Friends,” I repeat warily, stepping in.

Dad motions the guys to sit down, but they don’t do that. They all just stare at me as Dad leads me upstairs. “Go get your things, darling.”

I nod wordlessly, going up the stairs, feeling the men’s eyes on me. Swallowing hard, I head to my bedroom to get the rest of my things because I only got a single backpack when I ran away three months ago.

Something about the whole situation is making me uncomfortable, but I decide to play along and not let anyone know that I’m freaking out.

“Where did you meet them?” I ask in a hushed voice. “I’ve never seen those friends before.”

“Well. . . .” Dad scratches the back of his neck. “New friends, you know. Just coming over. I didn’t tell you that they’re here because you might not come and get your things.”

I face him as we’re halfway up the stairs. “How did you even meet them?”

“Just some places, you know.” He laughs again. “We’re supposed to play a game of poker. Now run along, I have to send you early tomorrow for the official tour.”

“How did you get hurt? Who did that to you?”

Another laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Just get your things, Chiara.”

Cracks are starting to appear in his story.

I must admit: I was too giddy and happy to pick his story apart in the first place. Perhaps I was hoping that he really did change and his getting me a scholarship is just a result of that. But now, I’m not so sure anymore. What official tour is he talking about? What is he doing with those armed men downstairs?

“Are you in trouble again?” I ask in a whisper. “Because we can go right now.”

Fear flashes in his eyes. “No. Oh god, no. Come get your things and be downstairs quickly.”

Dad remains in the middle of the stairs as I go forward, and I see that he doesn’t even bother to follow me this time. He’s just smiling through his mangled face as I enter my room.

But I’m not here to get my things.

I’m here to get the fuck out.

With my ears ringing in fear, I lock the door behind me and push the windows open. Then, I take the sheets and the covers, tying them together so I can make my way down safely. I tie the other end of the blanket rope to the wardrobe that is screwed right into the floor, testing its strength before throwing the other end out the window.

But just as I'm about to use it and escape, footsteps begin to thump from the other side of the door.

I sit on the windowsill, one of my feet dangling in the air. "Wait a moment, Dad!"

No answer. Taking a deep breath, I swing my other leg out the window.

I'm about to start climbing down when suddenly I see some of the men in suits waiting for me below the window.

A strangled cry escapes my lips. I climb back into the room, but then someone kicks the door open, ramming it off its hinges and causing it to fall on the floor with a loud bang.

Waiting for me on the other side are the men in suits.

I stumble back in fear, tripping on the line of blankets I made. The men approach me, and the one closest to me takes out a handkerchief, pulls my hair from the back, and covers my mouth and nose with it.

And everything goes black.