He releases me and takes my face in both hands, searching it for confirmation that I’m not harmed. He backs, taking in all of me to make sure I’m intact. The light of the museum is spilling through the glass doors and windows. We stand on the pavers that started this deadly journey.
“Thank God you’re okay. We couldn’t find you—I know how you love this garden.”
“Yes, I do,” I gasp.
He tucks the wet hair that fell out of the updo behind my ear and kisses my forehead. He hasn’t done that since I was seven.
“Papa, what’s going on? Why are you acting so strange, why was a man after me?”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know, he wore a mask and gloves, and some man in a coat helped me”—my voice quivers—“he saved me, he killed the bad man. Papa, his body is covered in blood and is back there in the garden.”
He turns, tucking me under his arm, “He’ll make good fertilizer. We need to leave quietly. You’re soaked, and your dress is muddy.” He steps back, takes off his dinner jacket and drapes it over my shoulders to hide all evidence of the situation. “Look happy, but don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“Shouldn’t we tell someone about the body back there?”
“We can’t be associated.” We swish through the doors as if nothing happened, my bare feet covered by my soggy dress.
We enter the main area of the event just as the music stops. Announcements begin to recognize the donors and sponsors who helped with the evening. We continue to walk past everyone and it’s beneficial their eyes are on the host and not us as Papa texts the others to join us immediately.
Mama, Laura, and Giovi are at the entrance as our limos roll up on cue.
“We’re leaving like nothing happened,” Papa commands.
Our guards open the doors on the two vehicles and the drivers whisk us away. Mama and Giovi and a guard take the second car.
Now is the perfect time for Papa to yell at me for breaking the rules.
“You shouldn’t have left the museum. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Fine, I get it. I get it.” My voice cracks from the strain of screaming earlier. I stifle sobs, remembering the sight of the dead man as trauma of the entire event unfolds as punishment for disobeying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
As the shock wears off, a wave of every emotion hits me. I wipe tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. Laura hands me tissues from her purse and I blow my nose. Then she hands me my purse she’s been carrying.
“I know,” he murmurs. This is his first admission that he knew I was in danger all along.
The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. I’m suddenly exhausted. I’m crashing hard. I just want to sleep. All I wanted to do was get away. I never expected it to end so badly. That man wasn’t wearing gloves because he was cold. He was out to kill someone. He was out to kill me.
But the kiss—that was earth shattering. I dare not tell Papa about that.
Who was my knight in shining armor? Will I see him again? Will I ever know who he was?
“Why is someone after me? What is going on? Did something happen?” I nag.
“Not now,” he replies, and Laura takes my hand and squeezes it, signaling me to be quiet. “Besides, I’m handling it. Everything should be okay now.”
“Where to, boss?” Our driver asks.
“The hotel. We’ll leave at first light. Make the arrangements.”
The car speeds up. I stare out the window, the streetlights become a blur.
Laura murmurs in my ear, “Put on a brave face, we’ll talk later.”
My toes, feeling the warmth of the heater in the car, reminds me, “Daddy, my shoes, they are in the garden.”
“Shit,” he vents his frustration in Italian, then silence ensues.