The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,54

my father-in-law.

And a pair of scissors.

I smiled and pressed a hand to my husband’s cheek. “How do you feel about going on another holiday?”

T he Washington D.C. wind stung the back of my neck, so cold it felt like individual icicles digging into my skin. I pulled my beanie down further, trying to minimize my discomfort.

Night had fallen over the capital, causing the holiday lights to brighten up the trees and snow with red and green. I sat beneath one of the leafless trees, wrapped up in my winter coat, eyes trained on the entrance to the Federal Bureau of Investigation headquarters.

It was two days until Thanksgiving, so the headquarters were half as busy as usual. They were working with a skeleton staff, hoping that criminals took the holiday season off as well.

“You alright, Sophia?” Alessandro said in my ear, his voice slightly tinny.

I turned slightly to the left, catching sight of Nero in the shadows. My husband and his enforcer were two streets away in a car, ready to come and get me at a moment’s notice, but it was Nero who was my first shield of protection. Alessandro’s face was too recognizable to allow him to join me.

I pressed down on the earpiece. “Fine.” My breath came out cloudy in front of me. “Not long now.”

“Stay safe,” he warned. Even a block away, he could still manage to make me feel warm and giddy—like some teenage girl.

I looked back to the entrance. The doors opened, and two figures stepped out into the snow.

I ducked my head but kept my eyes trained on them. Wrapped in their coats, they were harder to make out features on, but I knew that gait like the back of my hand.

Catherine.

My sister walked beside another agent, listening to them speak.

I looked down at what I was wearing, almost laughing to myself. I had chosen clothes that I knew Catherine would wear, dark blues and blacks. I had hit the nail on the head, all the way to the dark beanie.

Catherine had always chosen comfort over beauty—especially in the colder months. She had little patience for being cold, always complaining as soon as she felt the slightest bit chilly.

It was nice to know some things never changed.

My sister and the other agent disappeared into the parking lot. Not a few moments later, a car roared to life, the headlights startlingly bright in the night.

“Your sister is gone,” Alessandro told me a few seconds later. “It’s your turn.”

I rose from my seat, stretching my frozen legs, and headed toward the entrance.

You can do this, I told myself. Think Catherine, think of your sister.

A memory rose up in my mind of the two of us. We had been teenage girls, young and fresh and untouched by the darkness of life. It had been a hot night, so we’d lain out on the lawn, both of us wanting to see glow bugs but not willing to go and look for them.

There’s the archer, Catherine had said pointing at the night sky.

Where? I remembered asking.

She’d grabbed my hand and pointed it at the collection of stars. Can you see it now?

I could. No, I lied.

She turned toward me, expression disapproving. Yes, you can, Soph. Don’t lie to me. I’m not Papa.

I can’t see it, I said again, my laughter bubbling up my throat.

She had rolled her eyes. You’re such a liar.

So are you, I had retorted. I know you snuck out last night.

Her eyes had gleamed in the dark. So, you were awake! I knew it! She laughed, no longer angry at me. Next time, you can come.

Papa will be angry.

Only if he finds out. Catherine turned her head to me, staring deep into my eyes. I remembered the ferocity of her expression, like a lion as its jaws wrap around the gazelle’s neck. Will you tell on me, Soph?

Of course not, Cat. You’re my sister.

She had grinned. I won’t ever leave you again, she had said, perhaps the first lie she’d ever told me.

I don’t mind being left behind, as long as you tell me where you’re going.

Catherine’s expression softened. I don’t mind when you lie, as long as you don’t lie to me.

I promise not to lie to you.

I promise not to leave you.

Neither of us had kept our promise.

It was that memory that I held to my chest as I walked toward the entrance. Those empty promises we had made to each other on that summer’s night hadn’t been made with the intention of breaking