Page 98 of The Devil's Den

“You ready?” he asks, as he grips the door handle.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this.”

“We’ll tell them together.”

My gut churns. “How do we tell them she’s dead?” Tears spring into my eyes.

“I don’t know.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and he opens the door.

“Take your time,” the driver says as he turns, and we shut the door behind us.

I stare at the brown, unassuming door, my heartbeats drumming so loud, I almost lose the courage to go up the steps and knock.

But he must notice how nervous I am, because his hand slips into mine and he brings it to his mouth, kissing the top of it. “It’ll be hard,” he admits. “But we’ll make it through, and so will they.”

“Okay.” I shudder with a breath. “Let’s go.” And we do, walking side by side toward the door, his hand knocking gently.

“One second!” someone shouts—a female voice. Then it opens, and two little girls look up at us.

“Hi there.” I kneel.

“Who are you?” The girls look questioningly at us, squinting through a set of dark blue eyes. They’re most definitely twins from all appearances, and identical at that. One of the girls pops a hand on her hip, the other twisting a curl of brown hair at her shoulder.

“Girls! What are you doing?” A woman hurries to the door, seemingly out of breath, her black hair coiled up high in a messy bun, her black t-shirt covered in red stains.

“I’m sorry.” She looks down at herself. “I was cleaning the kitchen. These girls made an absolute mess. How can I help you?”

We stare at her with an understanding smile. “We’re friends of Alison’s,” I say, feeling that familiar twinge in my heart whenever I think about her.

“Oh my! Where is she? Mom and I’ve been calling her nonstop for almost two months. Please tell me you know where she is. We wanted to call the cops but ahh—” Fear greets her gaze before her face twitches. “I need to know where my sister is. Please just tell me.”

My breathing turns heavy and I’m ready to burst into tears, but he’s there, holding me steady, like he always does.

“Would it be okay if we came in?” Matteo asks.

That gets her expression turning serious. “I—ahh—I don’t know.”

“We’re not with the Bianchis. I promise.” I hope to reassure her.

Her eyes pop wide and she nods, stepping out of our way so we can stroll inside. The girls stand beside their mother, before they run into another room.

“You can come in here.” She gestures with a hand toward the two black leather sofas. “Mom is taking a nap.”

“I’m most definitely not,” a distant voice says, and we all turn to find an older lady, short gray hair reaching her chin as she carefully climbs down the stairs, holding tightly to the banister.

“Who may you two be?” Her glance moves quickly between us, her kindness showing in the softness of her gaze.

“They’re friends of Alison, Mom. I’m Dora, by the way,” she quickly says before going to help her mother settle on the couch.

“Sit, you two,” Alison’s mom says, and we take a spot at the end of the sofa, opposite from her while Dora takes a seat to the right.

“So where’s my daughter? Did something happen to her?”

“Mom!”

“I don’t want to think it either, honey, but she hasn’t called or visited in weeks, and it’s not like we can call those bastards and ask.”

Dora peers into her lap, her fingers playing with the strings of her sweatpants. She’s pretty, just like Alison was. I can clearly see the resemblance.

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