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ELEVEN YEARS AGO

Peeping around the banister at the top of the stairs, I rest my head against the polished wooden slats and peer down towards the entrance hall below.

I can’t sleep. I know I should be in bed. Dad will be furious with me, when he finds out I have been sneaking around where I shouldn’t be, but I keep hearing voices somewhere in the house, and my curiosity has gotten the better of me.

I’m crouched in the upstairs hallway, nestled in the shadow cast by the large chandelier that dangles from the ceiling, just enough to keep me under cover.

Voices from my father’s office had drifted to my room, sharp and commanding.

Hearing the tone to his voice snapped me out of bed, wondering who was unlucky enough to receive his anger today.

When he’s mad, I know he might take it out on me if he finds me like this, but I’m ten now—I'm practically grown-up. I should know what is happening in my home, shouldn’t I...?

A noise catches my attention, pulling me out of the shadows.

Footsteps?

I grip two of the slats in the railing and peer through them to the front door where two guards normally stand.

They’re not there. I feel a little tingle of fear that makes my stomach hurt.

I don’t like it when things don’t go as they’re meant to.

Dad never told me, but I know he’s what is called a “mafia don.” Life is scary. I know that too.

But where are the guards? Are they the people my father is arguing with...?

Movement catches my eye. I crane my neck to see a woman bursting from the corridor that leads down to the basement. She’s running for the grand entryway, to the front door, as though her life depends on it.

Something about the sight of her stirs even more fear in me.

I’m the only girl who lives here. After Mom died when I was born, it’s just been Dad and me…

and his lieutenants and guards and other men.

Tonight, a woman stands by the door, near the bottom of the curved stairs.

Her eyes dart around wildly before she lunges for the front door.

She tries the handle, but it doesn’t budge, just rattles in the frame. I notice that she has red marks on her wrists—like a bracelet was fastened too tightly on each. Those rings of red aren’t the only things staining her skin.

Beneath a mess of red hair, I see bruises that run along the side of her face and neck—purple and bluish and green.

She’s hurt? I part my lips, wanting to call out to her and offer her help, but before I can, a voice booms through the entrance hall, making both me and the woman jump.

I draw back into the shadows, not wanting to be caught out of bed at this hour.

“Veronica! Where the fuck are you...?”

It’s my father. I hate hearing him curse like that. He only ever does it when he thinks I’m not listening, but the words sound so nasty coming out of his mouth. He’s always quick to tell me off if I say something he doesn’t like, but when it comes to his own words, he is far less careful.

The woman bolts towards the corridor on the far side of the foyer, away from where she came, and just as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone.

I can hear her footsteps shuffling along the polished floors, the ones that I skid along in my socks when Dad isn’t looking.

But she’s not running for fun—the look on her face, those wild, wide eyes, tell me that she is running for her life… from my dad.

He strides into the center of the grand foyer, followed by two guards. His face is like thunder ready to explode as he casts his gaze this way and that.

"Find her!” he roars to the men, slamming his hand into the wall beside him.

The portraits of our family members, of my mother and his father, shake dangerously in the frame, as though they are about to leap out.

I jerk in surprise, and, to my horror, my leg pops out beneath me and connects with one of the wooden slats of the banister.

All eyes in the room turn towards me; I want to vanish, to blink out of existence right then and there.

"Is that her?” One of the guards demands, and my father shakes his head as he stalks towards the stairs.

"No," he mutters. "Just Cara. Search the gardens, block off the roads—whatever it takes to get her back."

The men move out at once, abandoning me alone with my father. As he climbs the stairs, I know I’m in trouble.

And if there is one person in the world I don’t want to be in trouble with, it’s my father.

He reaches the top of the stairs, and I scrabble backwards.

"I-I'm sorry," I blurt out to him, doing everything I can to soften the blow of my naughtiness. "I didn’t mean to… I was awake. I heard voices, I?—"

But before I can finish what I am trying to say, he reaches down and grabs my arm, yanking me upright roughly. I cry out, a shock of pain running through me as he twists my wrist around and shoves his face close to mine.

And the man who is staring at me right now, he doesn’t look like my dad. He might have the same graying hair, the same brown eyes, the same expensive suit as my father would wear, but I have never seen that look on his face before. His gaze is dark, dangerous, his jaw set tight as he glares at me.

"What are you doing out of bed?”

He tightens his grip on my wrist as he waits for an answer, and I feel tears spring to my eyes.

"And now, crying?" he snaps at me. "You can’t cry your way out of everything, Cara. What did you see? Did you see a woman go through here?"

"Yes," I breathe, finally, pointing down towards the side hall. I feel a stab of guilt, knowing that I’m going to make it harder for this woman to escape, but whatever she’s done, it’s angered my father.

And he’s always telling me that everything he does, he does for my benefit, so I should be honest with him.

Shouldn’t I?

He releases me for a moment and turns to his men in the entryway..

"Along the east corridor!” he yells to them. "She’s probably going to the garden. Stop her before she gets there...!”

In the brief moment I have from under his scrutiny, I realize that my leg is throbbing.

I glance down and see that I have managed to cut it, right along the edge of my right calf.

I had been so scared before that I hadn’t noticed it, but the sight of the blood seeping through my pastel pink pajama bottoms makes my tears come faster.

"Oh, for God’s sake," my father mutters when he turns his attention back to me. He stoops down, yanking up the leg of my pajama pants to inspect the wound beneath it. It doesn’t look too bad, just a cut from a loose nail, but it still makes me feel a bit dizzy.

I turn my head away from it, but then I feel my father’s hand on my shoulders, pulling me to my feet.

"See? This is why you need to stay in bed," he tells me, his voice less angry as he pulls me back towards my room. "You’ll get hurt. You have to listen to me; it’s the only way you’ll be able to stay safe. You understand?"

The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument. I know he expects me to nod along. I do as I’m told, agreeing silently, and praying that this will be enough for him to let me get back to bed.

"Good girl," he mutters, and he pushes open the door and leads me inside. "I’ll send up one of the maids to take care of your leg."

"Can I see Misha?” I ask hopefully. The maids all live on the adjoining property and have been part of my life for years.

Misha has always been my favorite since she is the kindest, sweetest lady.

Plus she always seems to have some kind of candy on her when I need something to distract from a bruised elbow or scraped knee.

"Mmm," he replies, as he heads for the door, and even as he leaves, I know that he has half-forgotten what he promised me. I scurry to the bathroom.

The look on the face of that woman I saw keeps playing in my mind. Who is she? Where is she going? Did they find her? I pointed them in the right direction to go after her, so if she is caught, then it might be because of me...

I brush those thoughts aside as I wash the blood from my hands.

Like Dad always says, he just wants the best for me.

He wants me to be safe. He would never do anything against my best interests.

That’s why he works so hard to provide a good life for me, so the least I can do is tell him where that woman rushed off to in return.

And yet, as I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I can’t help but wonder what scary things she might have been running from.