It arrived on a Tuesday, slipped through the mail slot of her grandmother's apartment building along with the usual collection of bills and advertisements, an envelope with no return address and Aria's name written in handwriting she did not recognize.
Rosa found it first. She called Aria that evening during their scheduled call, her voice carrying a thread of worry she was trying, not entirely successfully, to disguise as curiosity.
There's a letter for you here, mija, she said. No return address. The handwriting is strange. I didn't open it. I wanted to ask first.
Aria felt something cold settle low in her stomach.
Don't open it, she said immediately. Nonna, please don't open it. I'll come get it.
She brought the request to Damien that same evening, sitting across from him in his st
