Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I could feel the color drain from my face. I hadn’t even thought about that. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Me neither,” he said. Was he really joking?
When he had eaten everything that I’d brought and handed the packaging back to me, we settled on the floor.
“The staircase creaks when they come down here. You can hide in time,” Nestore told me when I glanced at the cellblock door for the hundredth time.
“Here.” I handed him the book I’d picked. It was a fantasy book with dragons. He took it without checking it, then took a few gulps from the water bottle.
“I’m praying that this will be over soon.”
“There are only two ways this can end. With me dead or with your father dead.”
Two weeks later, I could barely contain my excitement as I headed down to the basement to Nestore. My father had left that morning, so as soon as my homeschooling was done, I hurried downstairs.
Nestore’s face looked better. He had a new cut on his lower lip, and the way he moved suggested he had other bruises and injuries on his body, but it wasn’t anything as obvious as the first time my father had tortured him. “I know why my father was so busy in the past few days.”
Nestore raised his eyebrows as he eagerly dug in. Today, I had a container with penne all’arrabbiata for him.
“I overheard the guards talking today. They said Benedetto Falcone was killed by his own enforcer.” I grinned, feeling giddy with the possibilities.
Nestore stopped eating and put the container down, hope lighting up his face. “Growl? Are you sure?”
“That’s what they said. My father wasn’t at the dinner table, so I couldn’t ask him, but he’s tripled the guards.”
Nestore’s brows snatched together as he absentmindedly rubbed his left rib.
“Maybe a new Capo will improve things,” I said.
“Maybe,” Nestore agreed, looking more alive than I had seen him since his capture. “But it’ll be a while until his influence reaches California. His son, Remo, is too young.”
“Rumor has it nobody knows where he or his brothers are anyway.”
Nestore perked up, his brows furrowing further. “Several forces will fight for the position of Capo of the Camorra, and eventually, he’ll be one of them. It’s in his blood.”
That was what I had feared. “Do you think my father will be among them?” The idea that Father could become even more powerful terrified me. He’d be as bad as Benedetto, and Nestore’s fate would be sealed.
Nestore’s shoulders stiffened, a flicker of fear passing his face before he masked it. “He’ll try.”
“I don’t think he’ll be successful.”
Nestore didn’t say anything. He finished the food and then leaned back with a deep frown. He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, and my belly dropped. The bruises, cuts, and burns on his arms made my chest ache for him. What did he go through while I was comfortable upstairs?
The moment my birthday party was over, and the guests were gone, I snuck downstairs with a huge piece of my chocolate cake. Father had gone to bed completely shit-faced, and the staff was busy cleaning up after the crowd, so nobody paid me any attention.
Nestore’s eyes widened when he spotted me in my blush-colored ball dress.
He pushed to his feet and came toward the bars. “What—” He snapped his lips shut. “Your birthday?”
I nodded. I hadn’t told him about the party. I had felt too horrible talking about something like that when Nestore’s last birthday had ended in a nightmare, and he’d been locked inside a cell for two months. Having to celebrate in the very ballroom so much blood had been spilled not too long ago had been a horrid experience I didn’t wish to repeat.
“Thirteen?” he asked.
“Yeah. I brought cake for you.” I took out the container with the chocolate cake and handed it to Nestore, who took it hesitantly.
“Happy birthday,” he said quietly, his eyes forlorn. “I don’t have a present.”
“You being alive is a present.”
He opened the container and ate the cake in silence.
“Do you like it?” I asked, unable to bear the silence any longer. Seeing Nestore eat cake in the dirty, cold cell made me desperately sad.
“It’s delicious.” He let out a sigh. “Sometimes I wish you wouldn’t still give me glimpses of good things in life like delicious food. Sometimes I just want to drown in the darkness down here.”
I gripped the bars. “Don’t give up. Promise me. We’ll find a way to get you out.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
I wanted to distract him from his captivity. “Tell me about your favorite memory.”
He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, I had already given up hope for an answer. “My mother used to read me the same book every night. I loved it and couldn’t fall asleep without it. No matter what my father did to her, she always came to my bed and read me The Tale of Peter Rabbit.”