Page 24 of Sinner
“For as long as I can,” he promises, and then there are no more words, only the beat of our hearts in the silence.
Chapter 13
Caterina
The phone’sharsh ring tears through my midnight dreams like a knife, yanking me from sleep. I fumble in the darkness, my fingers finding the cold screen as it illuminates my bedroom with its blue glow.
“Hello?” My voice is thick with sleep, disoriented.
“Caterina.” My father’s voice, sharp and unyielding, slices through the fog in my mind. “A car is coming for you. Be ready in ten minutes.”
“What? Now?” I push myself up, heart racing with sudden alarm. “Papa, it’s the middle of the night. Can’t this wait until morning?”
“No.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation. “Now, Caterina.”
“What’s happened? Is someone hurt?” The sheets tangle around my legs as I switch on my bedside lamp, wincing at the sudden brightness.
“Just be ready.” The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, dread pooling in my stomach. My father never calls at midnight unless something is terribly wrong. I slide out of bed, the hardwood floor cool beneath my bare feet,and reach for my robe. My fingers tremble as I tie it around my waist.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, dialing his number back. It rings four times before he answers.
“I said be ready.” His voice is colder now.
“Papa, please. Tell me what’s going on. I’ll come first thing in the morning, I promise.” I try to sound reasonable, though panic flutters in my chest like a trapped bird.
Three sharp knocks on my apartment door make me jump. My father sighs on the other end of the line.
“They’re already there. Go with them, Caterina.”
The line goes dead again. I stand frozen, my phone clutched in my hand, as three more knocks echo through my apartment, louder this time, more insistent.
When I open the door, two familiar faces greet me—Salvatore and Dominic, my father’s most trusted men. Their expressions are grim, their postures rigid.
“Miss Benetti,” Salvatore says, “we need to leave now.”
“I’m not dressed,” I protest, pulling my robe tighter. “At least let me?—”
“We have orders,” Dominic interrupts, his voice gentler but no less firm. “Five minutes to dress. We’ll wait right here.”
I know that tone. I’ve heard it all my life. It’s the voice that says the Benetti family business waits for no one, not even a Benetti daughter.
The ride to my parents’ house is silent and tense. The city streets glisten with recent rain, empty except for the occasional taxi. I watch the familiar landmarks of Brooklyn pass by, illuminated by streetlights that cast long shadows. My mind races with possibilities, each more troubling than the last.
When we arrive, the house is fully lit, as if it’s midday rather than nearly one in the morning. My mother meets me at the door, her face drawn with worry, her silk robe hastily tied.
“Caterina,” she says, taking my arm. Her fingers dig into my skin. “Come.”
She leads me to my father’s study, where he stands by the fireplace, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. My brothers, Marco and Matteo, occupy opposite corners of the room, Marco pacing like a caged animal, Matteo leaning against the bookshelf with forced casualness.
“Sit down,” my father says, gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk.
I remain standing. “What is this about?”
My father takes a long sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down with deliberate care. “Anthony called me tonight.”
My stomach drops. Anthony. My fiancé. The man I’m supposed to marry in three months.
