Chapter 4After She Left, They Took My Home

When I woke up again, I was tied to an iron chair. My hands were wrenched behind my back, my ankles strapped down so tight I couldn't move an inch.

It had to be the villa's basement. That's why the air smelled so rank. Back when Mom was alive, this was where we stored old junk. No windows. No heating. Barely warmer than outside.

"Hello?! Is anyone there?!" I thrashed and screamed.

High heels clicked on the other side of the door. It swung open, and Julia walked in carrying a plate of steak. "Hungry? Sign this confession, and the steak is yours."

She set a piece of paper and a pen on my lap.

I was starving. But I still said, "Dream on."

Julia's face went dark. She picked up the plate, dumped the steak onto the floor right in front of me, then ground her stiletto heel into it. "Your father isn't home. Don't count on anyone coming to save you. Let's see how long you last."

The iron door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed me again.

I tried to gnaw through the rope with my teeth, but I couldn't reach. The hunger was so bad I started hallucinating. I saw Mom in a white dress, standing in the corner, smiling at me. My breathing grew shallow. I could feel my life draining out of me, bit by bit.

No. I can't die here. I refuse to die here.

I forced myself awake. My hands fumbled blindly through the dark. The rope cut into my flesh, blood slicking my wrists, but then my fingers found something. A rusted iron nail jutting out of the back of the chair.

I angled my wrists toward it and sawed the rope against the nail.

Once. Twice. Dozens of times. The nail tore through skin, down to the bone.

A faint snap echoed in the dark. The rope finally gave.

I collapsed to the floor, arms limp at my sides. I lay there for a full hour before I could gather enough strength to push myself up against the wall.

By memory alone, I felt my way to the old wooden chest. Mom used to keep her keepsakes in there.

It wasn't locked. I lifted the lid and dug through it until my fingers closed around an old satellite phone. Before she died, Mom had buried it at the very bottom of the box. She'd stroked my hair and told me, her face serious, "Emma, if you're ever in danger, the kind your father can't fix, use this phone. Call your grandfather."

After Mom was gone, Dad forbade me from ever mentioning my grandfather. He said he was a dangerous man, that he'd bring trouble to our family.

I'd always obeyed. But right now, I didn't care.

I pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life with a faint green glow. Still charged. Full bars.

My fingers trembling, I punched in the number Mom had made me memorize. It rang once.

"Hello?" An old man's voice.

"Grandpa." My voice came out like sandpaper scraping against wood.

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath. "Emma? Is that you? It's Grandpa."

Something inside me just broke. All the fear, all the hurt, everything I'd been holding in came flooding out. Tears poured down my face. "Grandpa, help me! I'm so hungry and so cold. Julia locked me in the basement, she's trying to make me take the fall for Jacey!"

The air on the other end shifted. "Emma, don't be scared. Grandpa's here. Tell me, where are you right now?"

"The basement. At home."

"Good girl. Hide the phone. Stay safe. Grandpa's on his way."

Just before the line cut, I heard him roar at someone nearby: "No one lays a hand on a granddaughter of the Moretti family!"