Alessia Mancini
The question hung in the air, heavy and ominous. I felt Giovanni tense beside me, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around mine. The warm, sugary scent of baking cookies suddenly felt cloying, at odds with the darkness of our conversation.
Giovanni's voice was low and measured when he spoke, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual. "You probably don't want to know the answer to that, Signorina."
I watched Riley's face, saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes. She swallowed hard, her jaw set in a determined line. "If she's going to die, I want to see it," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I've never been as scared as I was when I got home to see that."
My heart ached for her, for the innocence she was losing with each passing moment in our wor
