Escaping The Mafia Don's Golden Cage

i

te was

Harper's handwriting when she was distressed was jagged, chaotic-ink bleedin

rs louder than a gunshot. The tracker bracelet sat o

dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, but the fabric remain

emor in her hand. I smelled the fear coming

asked. My voice

mered. "The police found..

I asked. "Whe

r room. She'

mother. I didn'

packing a suitcase, clothes thrown haphazardly into

mewhere?"

d some space, El

roat. I lifted her off the ground and slammed her against t

hers. "You and my mother left the estate at 11:40 PM. You re

ning purple, her nails digging useles

ghter, feeling the cartilage

gasped, spittle flying from her

rashed into the vanity, glass shat

t. It wasn't about love. It was about property. It was about the audac

running down her face and blinding one

a liability," I said. I pul

on a eulogy. I put a b

eturned, heav

eaners. I found Florence in the hallway. She was pale

li

stering my weapon. "You are a prisoner in your own home. You

boy?" she

"Military school. Overseas. Somewhere hard. If

our bedroom. It f

ge of the bed where she used to sleep, the sheet

. The river was fast.

hest. A severance of a tie th

t. Smarter than any of us gave h

he dresser. Her eyes were

un from me?" I whisp

jaw with my thumb, imagin

arper. And when I do, I'm going to chain y

rp

l town that smelled of salt and pine, a wom

itive behavioral therapy. She turned th

ffe

ey. He placed a stea

Her eyes were bright, clea

apter on trauma response is fas

Casey said, watch

w at the garden, where the hydrangeas bloomed in perfect, heavy clusters

lied gently. He to

safe her

t remember a husband. She didn't remember a son.

she didn't know that the artist who had painted her previous