Kneel For Me
“Tell me, Vittoria. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I whisper, and he holds his hand to his ear, signalling to me that he can’t hear me. Gulping, I look between Franky standing in front of us and Ambrosio.
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat and try to enhance my voice, even though I don’t know when the last time was that I did that. “Seventeen.”
Ambrosio nods with a smile, my throat hurting at pushing out my hoarse voice. “We will get that melodic voice of yours back, don’t worry.”
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