Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“When did you become so concerned about our witnesses? You’ve never been this way before.”
“Marco Leone died to protect his daughter. I owe him to see that she is safe.”
“At the moment she has chosen to stay at her apartment and we’ve got men outside guarding it, but we’re going to put her into the program after her father’s funeral in a few days. Security will be amped up during the funeral, and afterward, once things settle down a little, we can assess the situation more clearly.”
I was shocked. “You’re going to put her in the program?”
“Of course.”
I had no desire to continue the conversation with him, but I had to. “Has she actually agreed to be in the program?”
He paused. “Uh … I have to check up on that, but why wouldn’t she?”
I couldn’t believe the level of stupidity I was dealing with. “I want to see her. How can it happen?”
“It can’t,” he replied. “Perhaps at the funeral. People will be free to go up and speak to her then.”
I acknowledged the truth in his words as I ended the call.
Chapter 5
Zola
The sound of the hairdryer was strangely soothing, and for a few minutes, I was almost able to believe I could completely focus on it and not remember my beloved Papa was gone. Gone forever. He was never coming back.
When Antoine cut off the dryer, I was once again greeted with silence and my loss seemed even greater.
“There. I bet you’re glad you have one of the best stylists in the city as your roommate.”
I curved my lips at Antoine’s words and hoped it passed for a smile. “Yeah.”
“So … do you like it?” he asked, pumping hair serum into his hands and rubbing it through the ends of my hair.
“Yeah,” I nodded, staring at my lifeless face in the mirror.
“You should put some makeup on, darlin’.”
Our eyes met in the mirror. “I don’t want to.”
He nodded and didn’t ask me any questions or push me to talk, even though I was certain he wanted me to share my burdens with him. I just couldn’t, so this was where our little bathroom session came to an end. I thanked him, got to my feet and went to my room. I slipped quickly into my black dress, grabbed my purse, and was on my way out when I caught my reflection. For a second an old memory of my father resurfaced.
When I was a child, my father always loved my hair down, but whenever it would get in my eyes, which was all the time since I could never quite sit still, he would call me over and help me tie it up.
He always seemed to have a hair tie on him. I had always wondered how this was so. I had asked him once and he gave me some funny fantastical answer of how he was secretly a hair tie genie and it made me laugh until my sides hurt.
Antoine had done a wonderful job, but the perfection of my hair suddenly annoyed me. I grabbed a hair tie and turned it into a messy knot that I was certain would break Antoine’s heart.
Then I grabbed my phone off my dresser and headed into the kitchen to find breakfast for one waiting.
“Eat up, darlin’. You need your strength today.”
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, I'll just have a Kiwi smoothie later.”
“Thank you," I said and looked down at the omelet, sausage, and toast breakfast he had obviously put so much care into making for me.
I really appreciated the effort so I ate as much as I could, but my appetite was gone and it was hard going.
We went down to meet the police officers waiting and followed them to the unmarked police car. They never spoke and neither did we. I was grateful for the silence all the way to the cemetery.
I had been made aware of the potential danger that now surrounded me, and even though I believed I was in danger, I still couldn’t find it in me to be worried or even scared. I would never say it out loud, but sometimes I felt so sad I hoped they would come so that I could escape this cold, numb, hollow emptiness. For three whole days, I couldn’t find a lick of sleep. I had literally become the walking dead.
I stared out of the window at the vibrant city and wondered when or if I would ever feel like these people again. Living their lives with a frown or even a smile on their faces. Feeling anything beyond this soul-crushing grief that seemed to want to completely suck my life away at every moment.
I shut my eyes, no longer willing to think.
Finally, we arrived at the cemetery.
Papa’s funeral, as I had expected, was packed full. The media kept a reasonable distance and I was sure this was due to the police’s insistence that they stayed away. However, more people than I cared to know were present.