Chapter 81

• ELEANOR
• I scrubbed the last dish, letting the warm water run over my hands until my fingers felt numb. The rhythmic clinking of plates against the sink was the only sound in the kitchen, but my thoughts were far from calm. Armando’s words from earlier echoed in my mind, and then there was Don Salvatore. His threats, my sister’s pale face in that photo—it all coiled around my chest like a vice.
• I kept scrubbing—pretending the kitchen was my sanctuary—and for a moment it almost worked, but then the door creaked.