“How could you?” Mom cries out, the sound of slapping echoing down the hall. “How could you contract your only child out to that monster?”
“She wouldn’t have been my only child if you hadn’t done what you did!” Dad roars out, Mom screaming a moment later. “She’s going to cement a deal that will see me more powerful—” he breaks off, a grunting noise following.
I creep closer to the room, the door ajar. Peeking into the room, I see Dad on top of Mom, his hands around her neck as she jerks under him.
“Mom!” I cry out, rushing into the room. “Get off her!” I push at Dad, making him lose his balance as he topples off of her, landing on the floor.
Mom sits up, brushing her hair out of her eyes and pulling the torn pieces of her nightgown around her. “Get out of here, Dutch! Run!” Desperation laces her voice as she stands up, pushing me toward the door.
“No, I’m not leaving you!” I cry back, digging my heels into the carpet.
Dad gets up, storming toward me, his arm raising to strike. Mom pushes into him, taking the blow that was meant for me. She falls to the ground, and I scream as Dad hits her again and again. “Stop, Dad! Please!” I shout, trying to grab his arm. Terror rushes through me as he begins kicking her, ignoring my pleading.
Mom goes still, blood pooling under her head. Dad spins around, his eyes crazed, hair standing on end. He wraps his fist into my hair, lifting me from the ground in a painful grip. “Look what you did!” he screams into my face, covering me with spittle. “You should have kept your fucking mouth shut. People die when you talk.” Sobs rack my shoulders as I cling to his arms, trying to relieve the pressure on my scalp.
“This is your fault,” he whispers. “You killed your mother.”
“No!” I sob, tears tracing down my face.
“Yes. I think you need a few days in the basement while I clean this mess up. Maybe that will teach you to obey me.”
“No, Dad, please! I’m sorry!”
He drops me to the floor, then grabs my arm, pulling me from the room, my mother’s body left there like she’s nothing more than garbage.
Feet pound overhead as I huddle in the corner of the cage, arms wrapped tightly around my legs. Something soft brushes against my hand, but I ignore it, used to the mice nibbling around me now. I’m not sure how long I’ve been in here; it’s dark, no windows anywhere to help me mark the passing of time.
I stopped shouting to be let out days ago. At first, all I could see was my mother’s body lying on the floor, the scarlet pool of blood seeping out from under her. All I could hear were the thudding sounds of my father beating her, his harsh words blaming me.
I realized then that being a stupid kid is what got my mom killed. I vowed to keep things to myself in the future, to trust no one but myself. That it was time for me to grow up.
Waves of grief and guilt had flooded me, but soon enough, those left me as well, leaving me empty and hollow. Now that void has been filled with a rage so intense, I’m almost scared of myself. I don’t know what to do with it. It tears through me, burning everything good in its path. I’m not the same girl that Dad threw into this cage. When he lets me out, I will be something different altogether.
Men shouting above have me lifting my head, the creak of the basement door making me huddle farther into the darkened corner.
“Daniella!” a strong voice calls out. “Are you down here?”
I stay silent, cocking my head to the side. The voice isn’t one I know. I consider my options. Do I call out, or continue to keep quiet? Uncertainty washes over me, maybe it’s a trap? Dad says that loyalty is everything. He killed two of his brothers that tried to go against him. Their orphaned kids live next door with their nannies now. It wouldn’t surprise me if this is one of his “tests” to see if I pass.
“Daniella!” the voice comes again, the footsteps coming closer. I can see a flashlight beam moving across the floor, and I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle my breathing. “It’s okay sweetheart, you can come out.”
Holding my breath, I stay completely still, hoping he goes away. If this is one of Dad’s tests, then I’ll need to pass it. The flashlight comes closer, its beam flashing over me, before resting on my face, making me squint at the brightness of it.
I can only see the shadow of the man behind the light as he drops to his knees, a sob tearing from his throat. “Hi sweetie,” he says softly. “I’m your Uncle Harris.”
My eyes widen. Mom told me all about Uncle Harris, that he was a brave man who worked for the FBI. Still, I say nothing, still worried about a trap.
“Ah, clever girl,” he says, lowering the flashlight. “Judas Priest,” he says, the flashlight allowing me to see the smile that spreads across his face.
I push myself to my feet, groaning at the pins and needles sensation from sitting for too long. Judas Priest—my mom’s favorite band, and the password she taught me so that I would know someone was safe to go to.
Stepping toward the door to the cage, I wait while he gets it open, then step out of my prison for the first time in days, maybe weeks. I take his hand and we go upstairs, where men wearing vests with FBI written on them hold back my father and his men.
“Daniella Isabella Sofia Gianelli!” my father roars, his eyes narrowed in fury at me when he sees my hand in my uncle’s. “Come here now! Harris, you are not taking my daughter from me!”
Harris drops my hand and lunges at him, his hand going around Dad’s throat. “Where’s my sister?” he growls, making Dad laugh in his face.
“You’ll never know,” Dad snarls back at him, a leering grin stretched across his face.
