Page 89 of Sinful Scars

“Oh no,” I hastily climb out of bed to rescue my book.

I’m just fixing the dust jacket when someone shouts downstairs.

I freeze at my father’s booming voice. He’s yelling in English which is unusual.

Normally, when he’s mad, he slips into his native Italian, despite no one being able to understand him.

My mother usually responds by yelling in Russian and they break out into a fit of laughter when they realized they can’t understand a word the other is saying.

Setting my book down on my bedside table, I tiptoe overto my bedroom door and press my ear against it, hoping to catch what my father is saying.

“Get the hell out of my house!”

Someone is in our house?

My stomach flutters as a deep unknown voice yells something back in a strong accent similar to my mother’s.

My father’s voice booms. “I fucking warned you?—”

A huge crash cuts my father off, and I shriek.

Whoever my father is talking to is making my Papi mad. And not just the kind of mad he gets when Marco and I are caught stealing candy from the pantry.

This is different.

Something about it feels dangerous.

I don’t want to listen to this.

My father is a strong man, and I know he will make sure that nothing and no one will ever hurt me or Marco or Mama. So instead of sneaking out to investigate further, I step away from my door and go to perch on the bench beneath my window, which overlooks the gardens.

The porch lights are on, flooding not only the back patio below with orange light, but a boy who’s staring up at me too.

I jump, falling off the bench seat and landing on the floor with a thump as I clutch my hand to my heart.

Who is that, and why is he in my backyard?

I peer over the window ledge to find him still standing there, looking up at me with such sad eyes.

He looks to be around thirteen or fourteen, with long limbs and messy dark hair.

What is he doing here? And why won’t he stop staring at me?

The shouting downstairs is getting louder and another huge crash sounds from beneath my room.

I can’t hear my mother’s voice at all.

Why isn’t she saying something to stop this?

I should go and make sure Marco is all right. He doesn’t like it when there’s loud noises, and he’ll be frightened.

Running over to my door, I yank on the handle, but the door doesn’t move.

“Come on! Just open already,” I mutter, trying again.

Nothing.

I can’t get out.

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