Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
And why was their home in darkness this late at night? It wasn’t like the girl to sit in the dark, and he was sure she wouldn’t be out of doors this time of night. His heart kicked in his chest when he recalled the strange wind.
Moving swiftly now, he headed for her bedroom, his pulse racing with an unknown fear. His foot slammed into something in the dark, and it was then he heard the rattling sound of someone fighting to breathe. He looked for the candle as there was no light here in this part of the village, but there was none.
Using the sparse moonlight that filtered in through a crack in the window, he got to his knees with his heart frozen in his chest. “Sofia.” He could barely get her name past his lips. “Sweetheart, are you ill?” He ran his hands over her small frame, feeling for broken bones or a wound. Anything to explain. It was only as he lifted her that he noticed the torn clothes and the bruising.
His stomach fell to his knees as he rushed to his bed, which was closer, his eyes hardly believing what they saw. The anger was unbearable at that moment as he looked into the dead eyes of his only daughter. Not dead in body, no, but dead in her soul. The little girl he had left only a few short hours ago was no more.
“Who?” He didn’t know that he expected her to answer, wasn’t even sure that she had heard. Until she turned her head just enough to look at him. “Ricci.”
SOFIA
The wind was brisk as I made my way through the warm drizzle that had started just as I’d left the residence. I kept a watchful eye as I walked, ever conscious of my surroundings.
The place was still new to me and so different from home. I felt a slight pang when I remembered my home. The fact that I will never see it again made the memory bittersweet.
I clutched the piece of paper close to my chest as I recited the list on silently moving lips. English was still relatively new to me, and some of the syntax was still hard for me to grasp. But my memory was sharp as a tack, sometimes too sharp.
I placed my hand on my tummy that was just now starting to grow as fear rose up inside me. Things may be different here than in my village, but a young unwed mother faced the same challenges no matter where she was in the world. And for one such as myself, with not even family or friend about, it was doubly hard.
At the supermarket that was not too far from the house, I opened the paper and tried to read what was written there. The cook had the poorest handwriting I’d ever seen, and it was only because she had spoken out loud what it was she needed that I was able to find them on the shelves.
I ignored the looks from the men as I passed and the sneers from the women that were so unfounded. I paid and walked out into the drizzle, which had grown heavier.
I hurried back the way I came and was soon safe inside. “What was she doing out in the rain?” I jumped a little at the voice. Draco Russo, the oldest son and the one I tried to avoid most.
I kept my eyes to the ground lest he read my thoughts as the cook rushed to appease him. Everyone knew of his temper and that it was best to steer clear, though he’d never been cross with me. Which most claimed was a minor miracle.
But with me, he seemed quite different than he was with the others. In fact, from the day I was hired, he’d been very distant, except those times when I felt the warmth of his stare. Those I feared worst than his anger.
“We ran out of the sherry I needed for your father’s hunter’s stew. I didn’t know it was raining when she headed out. Why didn’t you take the umbrella, girl?” This last was directed at me, but by now, I was trying to escape into the wall. Before I could answer, though, he butted in again.
“Now you’re gonna blame her? You sent her out there? Even a blind ass could see it was gonna rain. The shit’s only been set up since this fucking morning.”
I think maybe I should say something. Somehow his anger did not seem to fit the situation. And I felt guilty for poor cook who was getting an earful because of me.
“It’s noth-nothing. I wasn’t out in it long.” I hate that stutter that only seems to show up when he’s around. I wish I had my papa here to tell me what was going on, but he wasn’t…