“Come to our house,” Aunt Sophia says on the phone. “Your uncle wants to see you. I want to see you. I made your favorite.”“You made chicken parmigiana?” My mouth starts to water.“From scratch,” Aunt Sophia tempts me.“I'll be there,” I promise. There is little that I wouldn't do for real home cooked food. Especially food made by my aunt. That woman could have been a chef in a different life.Ethan picks me up and drives me out to the burbs. My aunt and uncle have a comfortable house with a large backyard. They own a beach house out on Cape Cod, but other than some expensive trips, they keep the extent of their wealth to themselves.Uncle Tony says that doing that and paying our fair share of taxes will keep the feds off our backs. Considering it's worked so well and that he has friends in the IRS now, I believe him.“Dinner's almost ready,” Aunt Sophia says as I walk in. “Go wash your hands. You too, Ethan.”Ethan nods a “yes, ma'am” and goes to the bathroom. He always eats with us

I stumble out of the building and out into the cold. I hate the cold, but at least I'm free.My clothing is torn beyond saving and I'm bleeding from my lip and at least one cut above my eye. I'm fairly sure the back of my head is bleeding, but I don't dare stop to try and find out. I have to get away from him. At least all he did was hit me.“Cara?” Ethan calls, closing the car door behind him and hurrying across the snow. I must look like a disaster for him to have left the car. I certainly feel like a disaster. He catches me just as my legs give out. He's so warm, but all I can think about is how I'm getting blood on his suit.He cradles me close and runs to the car. I didn't know he was that strong, but I feel safe now that I have Ethan here. Ethan won't let Mr. Norwood hurt me. He would have stopped Mr. Norwood if he had known.“You need a doctor,” Ethan says quietly, his eyes going to the gash above my eye. Worry darkens his face as he tucks me into the car and pulls the remnants

As soon as Dante is out the door, I sit down at the piano bench. Even Dante's touches couldn't comfort me like the piano does. I touch the ivory keys, and then begin to play. I don't even know what I'm playing or how long I play for, I just let the music flow through me.Every time I think of Dante, the melody is beautiful. Every time I think of Norwood, I lose focus, and the music becomes terrible. Just like my life. Still, the piano is soothing. It is the one thing in my life I can always depend on.Minutes pass, maybe even hours. I'm interrupted by my phone ringing, but I don't even bother to answer it. As soon as it stops ringing, it starts again. I think of Dante, and the trouble his company is in. I sigh deeply, touching the piano one more time, like a lover. I'll return to you soon, I think.I answer the phone. “Dante?”“No, this is Dr. Robins from Urgent Care. We met last night.”Met isn't exactly the word I'd use for this situation, but it sounded better than anything else I

I stand in the middle of my destroyed room and wonder what I'm supposed to do next.I'm not sure who I should call first. Dante? Ethan? The apartment manager? I think that I'll be staying at Dante's place tonight.Just standing here doesn't do anything, though. I hate seeing Nan's book on the ground. It's always been in a place of respect. Leaving it on the floor feels wrong. I quickly walk over and pick up the heavy book.A picture falls out of it.I tuck the book into the crook of my arm and bend over to pick up the picture. It's of my mother, only it looks like something from a crime TV show. She's wearing only her bra and standing against a white background. There are bruises up and down her arms and on her ribs.I turn over the picture and see her neat handwriting.The date. A listing of the bruises in the picture and the name of the man who gave them to her and how. John Norwood.My hand starts to shake. It's proof that he hurt her.I frantically open the bible and find more. Th

I walk into Mrs. Romano's house like I own the place. My heels click with authority on the tile floors. I glide directly into Mrs. Romano's parlor and sit down in the chair facing her. I cross my legs and wait politely as she turns to greet me.The first step to my plan is to take care of Mrs. Russo. I can't have her breathing down my neck and I don't need the distraction. Plus, it might provide some extra leverage.“Cara Savio,” Mrs. Romano says, turning to face me. She's around Mrs. Russo's age, but heavyset. Her dark hair is clearly dyed and she wears bright red lipstick that clashes with her skin. However, her eyes are sharp and bright. She is a woman who has done the mafia family dance for decades. She is not to be underestimated.“Thank you for meeting me, Mrs. Romano,” I say respectfully. “I appreciate it.”She shrugs like it's nothing, but her eyes don't leave mine. “You said you have business to discuss?”I nod. “I have recently learned that you are in possession of some rath