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Only, when I open the door to walk inside, there’s someone sitting at the front desk: someone tall, dark, and completely deadly. It’s Lorenzo. His hands are in his lap and when he looks up at me, I wonder if he’s got a gun stashed around the shelter somewhere. He probably does. Maybe it’s out in his car.

“Rose,” he tells me. “We need to talk.”

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...THE STORY CONTINUESin Don’t Look.

1

The first time I realizedmy dad was a murderer, I was eight years old. It’s both far too young and far too old to realize that your parent is a monster, but that’s me: wrong. I’ve never been able to get my timing with things quite right. Everything about me is either too slow or too fast or too...something.

Dad was having a meeting with some of his men. He doesn’t only work with men, but most of his associates do happen to be males. This never seemed out of the ordinary to me. In fact, it still doesn’t. That’s my own bias. I view murder and crime as something men are interested in when there are perfectly good women who can do the same things.

My nanny had sent me to bed hours before. In fact, she’d tucked me in and whispered a couple of little prayers with me. Then she’d left, but I hadn’t gone to sleep. I’d stayed right where I was. I’d rested in bed, eyes wide open, and I’d stared at the ceiling.

Something was going to happen.

I knew it.

I always had an inkling when something big or bad or exciting was going to happen. Dad knew that I was like this. Ever since my mother had died the year before, I’d been very intuitive when it came to big movements happening in the family. I just didn’t know what those movements included.

After what felt like hours, I slipped out of bed and made my way to the giant sweeping staircase that served as the centerpiece of the stairs. I’d hated it ever since my mother had stumbled down it, twisting her ankle and falling to a fast death. Still, Daddy hadn’t put in an elevator or any sort of alternate means to get to the other floors, so I took the staircase.

Stepping quietly down, I listened. I couldn’t hear anything, but I knew there were people in the house. There were cars outside. I’d seen their lights flashing outside of my window as they turned down the winding driveway and slipped between the trees to park. The gigantic oaks that filled the estate had been carefully planned. If there was any sort of overhead surveillance, which there likely would be, then Daddy wouldn’t have to worry about people being able to see certain cars.

He liked his privacy.

We all did.

I heard a soft sound and I stopped, pausing. Georgetta and Lucas were still here. They worked for Daddy, but they lived here all the time. When Georgetta wasn’t helping me with my lessons or putting me to bed, I was pretty sure she spent time with Lucas. Once, I’d seen the two of them kissing in the kitchen. They hadn’t noticed me, and I’d slipped away before anyone could tell. A feeling of comfort and deep satisfaction had washed over me.

I’d been sneaky, and I’d gotten away with it.

That was a good feeling.

Now, I squatted down, sitting on one of the steps. The lights were almost all off, save for a tiny one by the front entrance of the house. From my position, I was nearly hidden completely from view. Unless someone looked right at me, I was cloaked in the shadows. I didn’t need to worry too much.