Sienna
A week of shared silence and locked doors ended the night someone tried to reach me.
I found the note slipped under a serving tray Rosa brought up. Just a folded scrap with a phone number and three words in my father’s old associate’s handwriting: “We can get you out.”
I should’ve burned it. Instead, I stood there staring at it, unable to look away.
Dante found out before the hour was up. I just didn’t know what he’d do when he did.
He didn’t knock.
He walked into the suite while I was still holding the paper, took it from my fingers, read it once, and said, “Come with me.”
We went down two flights of stairs I had never been allowed to use.
Concrete walls. A heavy door. Inside, a man I half-recognized from my father’s parties sat zip-tied to a chair, face already swelling,
