Page 47 of The Sicilian Brotherhood I

“Shower,” I said, “I want to shower.”

“Dahlia, you’re not making sense.”

My head was still fuzzy and I had no energy to argue with Skye, not even a bit.

“Is Franco out there?”

Skye shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t see any of them?”

“No.”

“A man took me out of the SUV. I think it might have been Rico.”

“Rico? He’s not in America.”

“How do you know that?”

Skye shook her head and then shrugged. She shivered and then said, “Look, let’s knock on the door and see if we can get some food.”

“My leg hurts. I can’t get up.”

“Then don’t.”

Skye stood up and walked over to the door. She’d been here overnight but there were no outward signs of it. She approached the door without a hint of stiffness in her legs from a night on the floor of the room. She knocked on the door.

“HEY! SOMEBODY! HEY!”

She knocked on the door and only stopped when on the other side, a knock came in response.

“QUIET!” A woman’s voice with a thick Italian accent came back in response.

The woman opened the door and pushed Skye with both hands.

“Get back.”

Skye raised her hands and stepped back. I remained leaning against the wall, eyeing the woman standing guard.

She had deeply tanned skin, so dark that she appeared Sicilian. Her hair fell to about her shoulders, a vibrant obsidian color that matched her round, black eyes. Her smile was incongruous with the cold emptiness of her eyes and she gazed at us with a visible lack of emotion.

“We need a blanket for her. She’s cold.”

“How is that my problem?”

“Mari…”

“Ay!” The woman shrieked.

“Sorry.”

Mari? How did Skye know her name?

“I’ll get the blanket.”

She glowered at Skye and shut the door again.

“Skye, how do you know her?”

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