Page 39 of Twisted Vows

A little part of me bubbles with happiness upon discovering that I haven’t lost my touch. Even here, kids are still kids, and they respond well to me.

Gio watches from the doorway, reclining against the frame. His bruised temple catches the light. His expression softens a little. “He was right about you.”

“Who?”

“Ricci. Said you had…a way with people.”

Warmth creeps up my neck.

A letter and a reported compliment… It’s definitely a day full of receiving surprising gifts from Enzo Ricci.

I huff, biting back the smile that almost claims my lips. “He must be confusing me with someone else.”

Trays piled with scrambled eggs, crusty bread, and steaming mugs beckon from the breakfast line. Enticing scents curl into my nostrils, triggering a reluctant hunger. For a second, if I close my eyes, this could almost pass for a school cafeteria.

I scoop food onto my tray with surprisingly steady hands. Back at the table, my stomach twists when I spot the stocky man in the corner.

He’s one of the men who dragged me from the street. The one named Vito.

It’s the first time I’m seeing him in a well-lit area, but I know him well enough at this point. I fixate on the snake tattoo slithering up his neck that disappears into his jaw. He prowls over, his lip curled in disgust.

“What’s she doing here?” He snarls, his raspy voice thick with disdain.

My mouth opens as I ready some cutting reply but Gio beats me to it. “She’s here on Ricci’s orders.”

Vito’s sneer falters, his bravado shrinking just at the name. That’s all it takes for the big man to back down. He mutters some foul retort but retreats.

A shiver crawls up my spine. Even wolves fear Ricci. His shadow stretches longer than I imagined.

Around us, voices murmur. The words of two nearby guards drift over like poison.

“Martinelli. That traitor lawyer.”

“Heard he sold them all out. Testimonies. Government.”

My fork stops halfway to my mouth. Hearing my father’s name out loud causes my stomach to drop.

Gio shifts, his eyes riveted to the floor as he tries to hide his reaction.

“Tell me,” I demand, sharper than intended.

He hesitates. “Not supposed to…”

“Tell me.”

He rubs his neck. “He started as a lawyer. Worked with the Benedettis. Then…something changed. People died because of his testimony. Turns out he was trying to feed the government. Expose everything. For years.”

My breath stutters as the past surfaces. My mother’s breakdowns, her frantic drawings of faceless men, arguments behind closed doors. Sudden changes of homes and schools. All the puzzle pieces slide into place.

Along with a searing memory of three officials in pressed suits visiting our house with too-wide smiles who slid photographs across the table. “Anyone look familiar, Sophia? Anyone who visited your father?” I was old enough to know I shouldn’t answer. But I was also furious at my dad for his secrets, his absences, and the way my mom cried when she thought I couldn’t hear. So, I pointed, eager to hurt him back.

Did that blow his cover? Did I tip dominoes that killed men?

Nausea overtakes me, guilt spreading like ink in water and darkening everything. I utter an excuse. “Um, Gio, I feel really tired. I think I need to go lie down.” I keep my voice steady by sheer force of will.

Back in my quarters, I pull the door closed beside me. It clicks shut, and I feel the world lock me out. I crumple onto my cot, trembling hard. I throw the blanket over my head, as if cotton could shield me from the truth.

For the first time, I think, Maybe I do deserve punishment. Maybe all this blood traces back to me.