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I prop my hand on my hip and stare at my daughter. “You’re eight.”

“I’m almost nine, which means I am nearly ten and only a few years from being a teenager,” Aria says with attitude.

“Uh, don’t remind me.” I squat down in front of her. “I’m just going to miss you.”

“Which is why you need a vacation, Mama,” she groans. “You need alone time.”

I push a piece of her hair behind her ear. “How did you get so smart?”

She points at herself. “Almost a teenager, remember?”

I laugh as I stand up.

Magda smiles at me. “We will be fine. You can call her every day too. It’s not like you are going silent on her.”

I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to cry. The surge of emotions I’ve been having lately is overwhelming. “I know.”

“Now scoot.” Magda pushes me toward the door. “Go enjoy your weekend away.”

I grab Aria and give her one more hug and a kiss before Magda pushes me all the way out the door.

I turn to walk down her front steps.

“Mira.” Her words stop me. Her voice fierce in a motherly way.

I turn to look at her.

“What happened to your face?”

My hand goes to the healing cut. She wasn’t at the restaurant the last two days, so she didn’t see it when it was worse. “I slipped. You know socks and tile floor don’t mix well. And one too many glasses of wine…”

“You don’t drink wine,” she says sternly.

“Sometimes I do. I guess this means I shouldn’t,” I say as I point at my face.

She steps down until we are face to face. “Mira, be careful.”

“Huh?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything more before turning around and heading inside her house.

I stand there for a few moments, confused. She couldn’t possibly know what I am doing. What has been going on. But she is observant and wise. I wouldn’t put it past her if she knew all of my secrets.

11

MIRABELLA

It’s unseasonably warm in Malta for the end of February, which helped make it easy to decide to come here. The sky is cloudless, the water perfectly picturesque as the turquoise water laps on the shore of the beach.

My toes are in the sand as I sip on a cocktail, trying to clear my mind. Of course it’s difficult to do when all I can think about is the envelope in my beach bag. The one I found in my mailbox yesterday morning. The stupid task my uncle wants me to do. I doubt it’s even anything important. Just a test to see if I will follow his orders.

I know it’s stupid to do it. To play into his game. But if he really meant that threat about Aria, I have no other choice. I can’t let anything happen to her. I will risk my own life a thousand times to guarantee her safety.

I look at my phone and see it’s nearly three. I pull my cover-up on and grab my towel and bag and head up to the hotel. My nerves are getting the best of me. And I don’t know why. My parents raised me better than this. Ever since I found out the truth on my thirteenth birthday, since I got a knife as a present, I learned the rules of this game. Not to show weakness, not to let on if you are scared, keep a straight face and act normal.

I take a deep breath as I slide my sandals on and make my way to the waterfront bar. It sits cliffside, just above the beach, overlooking the blue of the Mediterranean. White curtains blow in the arched doorways that separate the bar from the outdoor lounge area. At exactly three o’clock, I walk past the bar, dropping the envelope at the designated seat. I grip my beach bag hard with both hands to keep them from visibly shaking as I walk through the garden area and into the lobby of the hotel. I walk briskly as I make my way to the elevator. I press the button a few times as I feel eyes on my back. Finally the door opens and I slip inside, pressing the button to my floor. Once the doors close, I lean back against the wall, my breathing uneven as I think about what I just did. Either it was a test or I just made it known that I work for the Renzetti family.

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