They wouldn’t understand what Dario’s done for me. I’d be a filthy traitor. I’d end up powerless, hollowed, sent away, unable to help myself, much less the man I love.

None of that will matter if I can’t control myself. It’s imperative to our survival that I present the most beautiful thing in my life as if it’s ugly.

Will he open the pocket? Will he know what he’s looking at if he does? I have to make sure he sees the message I’m leaving for him.

I bend the paper clip straight. He’ll notice a pocket hem stiffened with a thing hidden where it doesn’t belong.

I protect what I value.

Lacing my needle with the blood-colored thread, I decide the price of my freedom.

“I hope they just kill him.”

CHAPTER 9

SARAH

After I fix the pocket, tucking the embroidered code and paper clip into the hem, I stop by the kitchen. The pot of lentils sits quietly on the back burner. I open it as if I want to take a whiff of the unsalted stew, then I drop the razor into it. It floats. I push it down, lick my finger, and replace the lid.

Done. Next, I take Dario’s shirt to the laundry. The bloodstains will never come out completely, but I know what’s expected of me—the whole job. That done, I go back up the stairs and cross through a demolished brick wall that connects the church and rectory.

Was the carpet always this stained? Did the cracks in the plaster always look like a forest in winter? It’s filthy and run down. I used to think this was the most beautiful place in the world.

A bulky man sits by the door to the street, feet propped up against the opposite wall, playing a plastic sliding number game. From under a protruding brow, his little brown eyes look up when I pass. I know him. I realize I know everyone, and everyone knows me.

“Good day, Lenny.”

“’day Miss… sorry. Ma’am.” The black box attached to his belt squawks. “Can I get someone to bring you someplace?” His meaty hands fold around the game, and he takes his feet off the wall. It’s streaked with scuff marks. The keypad set by the door is ringed with lighter plaster where the wall was repaired after installation, but never painted.

I always thought the man stationed here protected an entrance, but he’s protecting an exit. He’s not here to keep outsiders outside. He’s here to keep us in.

“Massimo called for me. I know the way.”

“Good.” He props his feet up and goes back to his game.

Head down, I scurry down the hall as if my only purpose is to be where Massimo called me to be.

My father’s office door is closed. Men’s voices come from the other side. I raise my hand to knock, but before I can, it opens.