“Nothing.” I put the photo back on the mantel. “Everything looks just the same.”

“We haven’t touched your room.” She leads me down the short hall, passing the door to Daddy’s home office.

With my free hand, I try the knob.

“Sarah Colonia,” she scolds. “You’re barely here five minutes and you’re back to your old ways.”

Out of habit, I crawl back into myself.

“I thought it might need tidying.” This is a lie. I’ve told so many just like it.

“Massimo has the key. He’ll ask us to tidy it when he needs it tidied. Now, come on. You look tired. Let’s get you to bed and we’ll figure out what to do with you tomorrow.”

What does she mean? Do I dare ask?

I do not. I let her show me my own room.

“The linens are fresh,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say. “For keeping it nice.”

“It’s been quite a time, since that day.” She flicks the drapes closed. “At least Massimo’s back. He can take care of that outsider.” Her nose wrinkles.

“You mean Sergio?”

“Imagine his picture in the gallery!” She seems scandalized. “Alongside all our men who sat at the head of our table for all our history. We’d never be the same.”

“It would be terrible,” I agree halfheartedly.

“Your mother had a mourning dress that may fit you.” She opens the closet door and starts flicking to the back. “I think I wore it when she passed.”

“I know which one you’re talking about.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m just really tired.”

From the kitchen, the teapot whistles.

“All right. No tea then.”

“Thank you.”

She’s out before I finish.

In the apartment’s only bathroom, I brush my hair and teeth before I dig my mother’s long black dress and lace veil out of the closet. Three cherries are embroidered on a tab at the back of the neck. I smile. Those cherries were her personal touch on every garment she made, whether for herself or someone else.

Wearing it, I will look like a pillar of sorrow, but it’s a costume. I’m not sorry he’s dead. Under the shell of black fabric, I am a missile propelled to Dario, and freedom, and the life we promised each other. The odds of meeting my target are so slim, I can’t even see the path clearly.

In my old apartment, in my old bed, alone with the sounds of the streets and the smell of clean sheets, I am a foreigner enveloped in the familiar.

The last time I was in this bed, all I wanted was a life without change or risk. Now everything that once held me safe is fraught with danger.

I want to get Dario out of here alive, leave the Colonia together, get on a plane.

We will swim with sharks.

First, the people I used to call my family need to trust me.

I need to pretend to hate the man I love.