Roxana tilted her head and searched for Susan's bag. She shot one last glance at Franco, hoping he'd spill something, but he seemed like a statue—motionless, stony, cold, and indifferent.
The girl shook her head, grabbed Susan's bag as requested, and bounced from the room.
"Grab her suitcase too," he ordered.
"She's gonna regret it," she muttered under her breath, making sure he couldn't hear her, and sadly went downstairs.
Susan walked down that paved path, feeling a knot in her chest. Some workers eyed her as if she were from another planet. Some said hi, others didn't bother.
"I never should've gone along with this. Huge mistake," she muttered, a pang in her chest. "Why did I have to pick the wrong room that night? Why Franco Rossi?" she whispered, throat tightening as she fought
