His chest heaves up and down. “Pl-please, I don’t know anything.”
“Let’s start with this. Where was Apollo and his three sons on the sixth of this month?”
“I’m just a ground worker. I don’t have direct access to—” He begins screaming, and it’s music to my ears. Not because he’s giving me the answers that I need. But because I need somewhere for this volatile beast of mine to feel in control of the situation again.
My sister’s sobs echo in my mind every time I carve out a new letter. I will give my family peace and remind all the other crews why they’re not to fuck with the Vescaris.
By the time I’m done with him, my work is simple, but he died on the fourth letter.
Soon.
7
LEONORE
I’m woken by Larissa jumping on the end of the bed.
“Larissa, we are sleeping. You know I worked late,” Nessa grumbles into her pillow beside me.
“But Leo is here,” she squeals, still jumping, her cute little red locks bouncing with each jump. She is five and a ball of energy.
“I’m awake. How about we go get breakfast and let Mom sleep?” I say to her, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.
“You don’t have to do that,” Nessa says but can hardly open her eyes. Pushing the blanket off me, I stand and open my arms for Larissa to jump into. She does it right away.
“It’s fine. We are due to catch up anyway.” I look down at Nessa. “Go to sleep. I’ll bring you back a coffee.”
“Lifesaver,” she whispers, pulls the blanket up higher, and instantly goes back to sleep. I walk out with Larissa on my hip, who is touching my hair and playing with it.
“I want hair like yours.”
I turn to her and smile.
“I want yours. Have you seen yours? It’s so stunning. You should be on TV,” I gush as I put her down. “Come on, get your shoes on and let me buy you breakfast.” I walk into the bathroomand find my toothbrush that I leave here and quickly brush my teeth and wash my face.
She doesn’t take long to dress herself. Today’s outfit is a sparkly purple tutu over zebra-stripe tights and a hot-pink leotard. My heart bursts with love for my goddaughter. She’s quirky and cute with her own crazy sense of style. When I see her, I see my five-year-old self.Before life kicked her in the teeth and all the unicorns ran away.Before I learned that freedom was a privilege and not always a given, depending on what family you’re born into.
Larissa slides on her shoes—a pair of holographic high tops—and opens the front door, looking back at me expectantly.
I reach for my purse that I left at the counter near the door, and we walk out to my car, her little hand holding mine as she skips happily.
I struggle with affection, showing it, giving it. You name it, I struggle with it. But when it comes to Larissa, it feels natural. Even from the moment she was born, I always felt comfortable holding her. I feel guilty that I don’t come and visit them enough, but I do try to help out when I can.
We drive to a local café, and immediately Larissa tells me she wants Mickey pancakes. They’re not on the menu, but I ask the server if she can make them anyway, and when she says yes, I give her a nice tip. I don’t generally eat breakfast, so I just order a muffin and a coffee and sit with Larissa as she drinks her juice.
“How is school?” I ask her.
“I have two friends, Chris and Bugger,” she says, to which I raise a brow.
“Bugger is an interesting name.”
“Oh, that’s not his real name. He just always says ‘bugger,’” she says really loud in her attempt to copy him. “And now we just call him that.” She giggles, and I laugh with her. This is whyI love kids. They’re so brutally honest in their innocence. And Larissa has sass, something I encourage.
We’re laughing so hard that I don’t see him until I hear him.
“The files I have on you didn’t state you had a daughter.”
I freeze at the sound of his voice and protectively move between Larissa and the man who now stands behind me and our table. My stomach sinks as I angle myself so he can’t see Larissa, and my gaze narrows.
