Lorenzo held his ruined knee and screamed. Salvatore kept looking at me.
One of Romano's men put a polished shoe against Lorenzo's chest and pushed him away from the van. His injured leg dragged through the dirty water.
Dante crawled toward the body bag. Blood from his forehead ran into one eye, and both palms had been scraped raw against the asphalt.
"Please, Elara. Let me touch her. I'm sorry."
A guard caught his collar and dragged him upright. Dante twisted hard enough to tear his shirt, still reaching toward me.
The guard threw him against the alley wall. He slid down and stayed there, one hand open on the pavement.
An older man brought Salvatore a plain wooden box.
A white cotton dress lay on the dark velvet. My mother had owned one just like it. Isabella had copied and ruined
