Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Do you honestly think your mother still has it?”
“You don’t understand. Of course, she does. This dollhouse isn’t any dollhouse. It’s passed down from generation to generation. I guarantee she does. It’s symbolic of her family.”
“And where would she keep it?”
“If it was me, it would be in the basement or the attic.”
“Hope it’s not either. Those places are creepy,” Julia interjects.
We’re still in the car. This time instead of going home, we are headed to the governor’s mansion.
“Maybe we should just break in? It would be easier.”
“Better idea,” Matteo announces to the car. “We are walking in the front door. I will tell him you tried to run away. Jonathan went after you, and I decided I didn’t want you. I shot you . . . and now ’cause I don’t want your death on my doorstep, I’m dropping you off.”
“There is no way he will believe that.”
“Well, I guess you better sell it then, baby.”
I look between Jonathan, who is all bruised, and my bandaged lump in my shirt, and nod, and then I rip off the bandage.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Matteo hisses.
“Selling it.” I wink. “Someone give me a knife.”
“Fuck no.”
“I need blood on my shirt for him to believe it.”
Matteo growls, but he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a knife, and slices his own arm. My eyes bug out of my head, but before I can object, he’s rubbing the blood all over me.
“I guess that works too.” I roll my eyes.
Twenty more minutes pass before we are at the house, then Matteo whispers an, “I’m sorry,” before he’s forcefully pulling me out of the car. Lorenzo has the whole gang in tow.
Security must have tipped off my father because when we make it to the front door, it flies open, and he’s there. My mother gasps and tells us to come in.
She’s hemming over the blood not to get on anything.
I hate her. She has condoned his behavior, and maybe she wasn’t directly involved, but she condoned it. She is just as culpable.
“I need to speak to you now, Marino.”
My father looks back and forth and then follows Lorenzo, Roberto, and Matteo out.
“Mom. Where is the dollhouse?”
“What?” she asks, her voice giving way to confusion.
“The dollhouse, Mom. The one Ana and I played with. Tell me where it is!” I whisper-shout.
“Basement. Storage room.”
“Let’s go,” I tell Jonathan and Julia, and then we are taking off in that direction. The stairs that lead down are pitch-black. We look for the lights, but when we can’t find them, Jonathan uses his phone flashlight.
We take the stairs faster than I should in my condition, and then we are basically running to the storage room.
There it is.
In the corner. Exactly how I remember it.
“Quickly, is there anything there?”
The dollhouse is old, probably in my family since the 1920s at least. We search each room with a flashlight. Then we start to turn over the furniture. The kitchen, the bathroom . . . when we get to the bedroom, I pull out the bed and flip it over.
My breath leaves my body in a gasp.
Taped to the bottom of the bed is a USB drive.
“Holy crap. I found it. Quick, let’s go.”
This time as I run, I can feel the immense pain in every step I take, but I power on. Needing to get out of here and find out what’s on the USB.
Sending a call to Matteo, I tell him we have to leave now.
I’m not sure how we are going to pull this off, but for some reason, I think I’m stuck here.
The sound of my father’s footsteps is all I can hear now. There is no way for us to leave this house unscathed. Not without him knowing we are up to something.
Matteo is walking with his men beside him.
“I didn’t kill her out of courtesy,” Matteo says. “I didn’t kill your little errand boy either. I expect you to consider this a peace offering. Consider my deal. Let me know your answer.”
Matteo’s done speaking. He walks up beside me, caging me in against the wall.
“Your father has convinced me to grant you an annulment and not kill you. Do not attempt to come back to me. I don’t want you.” His tone is wicked, but I know what this is. I know Matteo better than anyone.
“No.” I play along, throwing my arms around him. “Please.” I place the USB in his hand.
“You were such a disappointment,” he spits, and then like the evil mob boss he is, he walks away from me . . .
USB in hand.
45
Matteo
* * *
“You think he bought it?” Roberto asks when we get into the car.
“Let’s hope so. I left my fucking wife in that house,” I grit out, not happy about it at all.
“She’ll be okay.”
“She better be because if I lose her . . .”