“True. Though maybe I’ll be the one who buys her. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little bitch,” he responded. He jerked his head at the other men watching. “Take them back to the cell. No food or water. If they misbehave, take them down to the cargo hold with the other women.”
I slipped in and out of consciousness until I dropped face first onto the hard, cold metal of our cell again. Pain exploded through my body. A quiet moan left my lips. The door screeched shut on the other side of the room.
“Leona,” Max said. I squeezed my eyes shut as tears finally trickled down my cheeks. “Leona, talk to me.”
A soft touch brushed against my lip, but I jerked away and curled into a ball.
Everything hurt so fucking bad. I shouldn’t have spit at him and made everything worse, but I was so fuckingangry. Why was I here? Why wasn’t I at home, wrapped up in bed with my men?
“Leona, please.” Max’s voice turned desperate. He leaned over me, fear furrowing his brow. He reached forward, but hesitated.
My mouth twisted down into a frown as I tried, and miserably failed, to keep the tears from spilling. A sob choked me. I could barely breathe. My face felt so swollen and tender, the tears stung. Was my nose broken?
This time, when Max reached out a hand, I timidly closed my fingers around his.
He sat on the ground next to me and maneuvered us both near the wall farthest away from the cell door.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We’ll kill them, I swear it. We’ll get out of here.”
Buzz Cut’s threats echoed in my ears, along with the puzzle pieces of information I was still trying to put together. The Camorra. Max. Other women on the boat. Albania.
They would sell me to the highest bidder, and then what? Despair bubbled up my neck. My body shook with tremors. Would my guys find me in time? It had only been a few hours, but they had to be getting close…right?
Max’s arm was firm and steadying around my shoulders. I sank against his chest. My head throbbed. My ribs were on fire. But Max, at least, was a threat I knew. A fucked up comfort in the freezing cold of this metal cell.
What was the cargo hold like? Worse than this?
Itriedto bury everything. To control all the fear and pain bubbling inside my chest into a little box that I could shove deep down within my soul. But I couldn’t. It was too much.
“Mi dispiace, mi dispiace,” he whispered, over and over as he gently wiped the blood spatter from my face with the sleeve of his jacket. I sobbed against him while his arms tightened around me like bands. For this little pocket in time, everything he’d done—everything we’d been through—didn’t matter. He was warm against the cold. “Piccola.”
Eventually, I slid down him, all the energy and adrenaline gone from my body. I didn’t even question how comfortable it felt, how safe, as I laid my head in his lap. It was just us, Max and Leona, the same kids we were when he held my hand and sang me to sleep.
I fell asleep with the gentle movement of his fingers through my hair.
3
MAX
12 YEARS OLD
Leona slept beside me, our fingers still looped together. Cas had gone back to Alessio’s house a few hours ago once it was Leona’s bedtime. Since she’d drifted off, her grip had loosened. My fingers tingled, asleep just like her. Her tears had just barely dried, forming little crusty crystals on her cheeks. The astronaut nightlight cast galaxies in rotation above our heads, and I counted how many seconds it took for its stars to appear, disappear, and reappear.
She hadn’t used this nightlight in years. I teased her once, when she was six, that she was too old for it. What kind of mafia princess still needed a nightlight? After that, she’d yanked it out of the wall and thrown it into her closet.
But her dreams since our mothers died were getting worse.
I dug it out, set it up, and promised her the light would help. She’d sleep better. Finally, she’d given in.
I didn’t know what else to do for her. Our mothers were dead. There was no bringing them back. Our fathers were gone, hunting down their killers.
That left only me.
Cas had tried to help us both, but he didn’t understand fully.He didn’t remember his parents. He knew the pain of not having them, but he didn’t remember the pain oflosingthem.
I had to be strong for her. I hummed her lullaby under my breath as I gently extricated my fingers. Her eyes darted under her eyelids, but she didn’t wake up.
For the last couple of nights, I’d just slept in her bed underneath her princess canopy. There was no reason to go back to my house. It was cold and empty since Mamma died. Papa was never there. He was always with Uncle Luciano.
