Page 29 of Sweet Prison

Fuck.

“I said, let’s go.” The guard’s grip on my arm tightens.

I force my attention back to Nera. “We need to talk.”

“We’ll come tomorrow.”

“Just you, Nera,” I say.

Zahara’s body tenses. She tries to hide it, but I spot the look of utter betrayal on her face. I swallow the guilt. This game just got too dangerous, and I won’t riskherbeing caught in the crossfire and getting hurt. She’s out.

I squeeze my hands into fists, fighting the urge to take another step closer to her. I mustn’t. With these fuckers watching my every move, I can’t risk showing even an ounce of affection. It would immediately raise the vultures’ suspicions.

But I would kill to see her eyes again.

My clever little spy.

My ally.

My… friend.

The restraint I’ve been holding on to crumbles.

I raise my cuffed hands and tenderly caress her cheek with my knuckles. “Hello, Zahara.”

She doesn’t even look at me.

“Now, Spada.” The guard tugs on my arm, and I let my hands fall away from Zahara’s face. Then, I turn around and head toward the prison transport.

Walking away.

Away from the fragile peace that has found me in the most unusual place. Tranquility that lasted barely a few minutes, but I’ll remember it for years to come.

The urge to look over my shoulder… to steal just one last glance… just a tiny little glimpse, is ripping me apart. Somehow, someway, I manage to prevail. I can’t risk giving myself away. Can’t draw attention to her. Someone who shouldn’t might easily see.

As soon as I get in the vehicle, the door slams behind me. The thud echoes through the cab like the drop of a heavy granite slab over a tomb. Sealing me inside. With one path forward.

Will she still remember me after the letters stop?

No,that pesky voice at the back of my head admonishes.And it’s better that way.

For the first time in years, I agree with the asshole. Forgetting me would be a safer bet. For her.

Just you, Nera.

Massimo’s words ring in my head as I hurry along the dirt path toward the parking lot. My vision is so blurred by tears that I can barely see where I’m stepping. I lift my arm and brush the wetness away with my sleeve.

That bastard.

“Zara! Wait!” my sister calls after me.

I quicken my pace. I’m in no shape to talk with her now. The only thing I want to do is curl up in a dark corner and cry in peace.

My arms are still covered in goose bumps after coming face-to-face with Massimo for the first time. I didn’t expect him to be here. If I knew he was going to be at the funeral today, I would have put foundation. The rash on my face afterward would have been worth it. It might be stupid and vane, but I always saw myself wearing makeup whenever I imagined meeting him. I wanted him to take that first look at me and find me pretty. Instead, I stood silent like a moron because I couldn’t think of anything to say. Something else I could have prepared in advance. But I wasn’t prepared. Wasn’t ready. Years of waiting... longing to meet him at last, and I still wasn’t ready.

Saying that he looks different from what I imagined is the understatement of the millennium. I expected a lean guy with an athletic built, similar to the young man I saw in Mom’s pictures. So when I noticed the mountain-of-a-man in a prison uniform, covered in tattoos and with his head shaved, my mind blanked. But then, our gazes clashed.

And I knew.

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