One year later
(Zahara, age 17)
The door to my father’s office opens without a sound. Nevertheless, I throw another look down the hall to make sure no maids are around, then step inside.
“Zara? Do you need something?”
I startle, gaping at my father sitting behind his massive maple desk. He closes the folder in his hands, the expression on his face is of clear surprise—I barged into his space without an invitation. Well, I wasn’t expecting him to be here. I’ve gotten used to sneaking into Dad’s office on the regular to search for whatever Massimo needs. Whenever Dad isn’t home, obviously. And today is Thursday. He shouldn’t be here!
Every Thursday morning, my father leaves early to visit Massimo in prison. He spends hours at the correctional facility and doesn’t return home until late
