At least my face stopped itching.

“You took someone from me, many years ago. I need to know where she is. My name is Doctor Rosario Palmeri.” He pauses again, scanning my expression. I’m paralyzed. I can’t tell if my face betrays that I know the name, and I don’t have the control to hide it. “When you can move your face, we’re going to talk about my daughter, Rosemarie.”

CHAPTER 2

SARAH

Dario’s Buick Skylark smells like raw meat and gunpowder. My brother Massimo’s in the back seat. He’s not screaming anymore, but he’s grunting loudly or breathing in that way that makes a noise come from his throat. Sometimes he says words like fuck or why?

I wish he’d be quiet so I can think. I’ve had one driving lesson in my whole life. My fists are clamped around the steering wheel at ten and two, slipping on sweat when I turn around the curves of the narrow road, trying to keep close to the yellow line in the center.

There’s a white SUV in the rearview. Are they following us?

What do I do? What would Dario do? Would he pull to the side, get the rifle from under the seat, and shoot them? Massimo’s handgun is in my lap. It was easy to take from him while I got him in the car, but I don’t think I should shoot anyone with it.

The road goes straight for a while. The SUV swerves, crosses the yellow line—which went from solid to dotted—and speeds forward.

“Massimo,” I gasp as if he can help me. He can’t. He won’t. I put my hand on the gun in my lap. “Are they yours?”

“Who?” he barks. “Sarah, what did you do?”

I glance back at him. There’s blood all over the seat. “Who came with you?”

I face forward. The white SUV slows down, swerves, and comes astride me. A woman leans out the passenger window, brandishing her middle finger.

“Learn to drive, you fucki…”

The rest of an insult that Willa taught me is lost in the wind as the driver takes off. The back tires spit dust that clicks on the Buick’s windshield.

“No one,” I exhale. “No one came with you. Right? Not them at least?”

“I came by myself.” He’s holding his leg right above the wound, breathing hard, looking away from it. “I was going to get you and send you back to the old country to protect you. Before they got to you and…”

“Hollowed me.”

“Severed you. You’re welcome.”

They tell you being severed is worse, because you’re cast out and cut off. They say that’s why they don’t bother hollowing anymore. It’s all lies.

“I have to call Dario.” I realize I don’t have my phone.

“He killed our father. He’s not one of us. What is wrong with you?”

Watching the road, I reach back to him. “Give me your phone.”