Crouched down, the gun beside me, my thoughts bounced from one idea to another. None of what my father said made any sense. Why would anyone be after me? And why was he getting us new passports? I had my brand-new Italy-stamped passport in my night table drawer at home.
I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans and poked my head above the dashboard. The alley was desolate except for a stray cat, licking its paws, perched above a large dumpster. My eyes darted up the side of the building. Most of the windows were either shuttered or boarded up. Whoever lived here was not someone my dad normally hung out with.
I paused, an idea causing me to straighten up. My father had been working really long hours lately and barely sleeping. Even when I’d wake up in the middle of the night, he’d be at the kitchen table poring over books. Maybe exhaustion was making him have some sort of breakdown.
I fished my cell phone out from under the seat and texted Simone.
Dad freaking. Took me out of school. Get my stuff and I’ll go by ur place later to tell u about it.
Not even two seconds later, I got a reply.
Where r u? All this bc of Latchke?
I smiled, thankful for some normalcy.
Somewhere in the Prati neighborhood I think. Not about Latchke. Not sure what it is.
A rattling noise made me look up just as I hit send. The alley cat had jumped off the dumpster and was scurrying toward a group of Vespas and motorcycles all parked together.
Enough is enough, I thought. I needed some real answers.
I stuffed the phone in my pocket and threw open the door, but before I could get out, I spotted my dad dashing from the building.
Stepping out of the car, I took a defiant stance. He would either tell me what was going on or we weren’t leaving.
“Get in!” he shouted as a motorcycle somewhere in the distance revved its engine.
“Wait.” I put out my hand to stop him in midstride. “First, we need to—”
Before I could finish my sentence, a motorcycle zoomed by our car. The rider was dressed in black, with a black helmet that had red flames on the side. Dad hurtled toward me, knocking me to the ground. A popping noise filled the air.
“WHAT THE … ?” I pushed my father off me as he reached for the gun lying on the seat.
The sound of screeching tires filled the air. I twisted around, and from underneath the car I could see white smoke as the motorcyclist did a one-eighty at the end of the alley and headed back toward us.
My dad staggered up. Took aim.
One … two … three shots.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My mild-mannered art historian father was in a gun battle. What kind of warped universe was I in?
The motorcyclist lost control and careened into the parked Vespas down the street, knocking them down like bowling pins.
“Go!” My dad pushed me into the car, ran to get in on the other side, and peeled out in reverse.
“That man! He was shooting at us!” I stared down the alley as the motorcyclist pushed a few bikes out of the way and started running after us.
“Just get down!” Our car swerved out of the alley as Papi shifted gears to get us moving forward.
I stayed silent and crouched down. Papi quickly turned onto several narrow streets, and then finally slowed down to blend with traffic along the main road.
I inched up in my seat and pulled out my cell phone. “I’m calling the police. We have to tell them that someone just tried to kill us.”
“It’s your phone!” Papi reached over, yanked the phone from my hand, and opened the car window. “That’s how they found us.”
It was clear what he was about to do. “DON’T!” I yelled, but it was too late. He flung the phone out into the street just in time for it to be run over by a tour bus.
“Why would you do that? How are we going to get help?” I was afraid my father was losing his mind. I wanted to yell some more, but then I saw it.
A bright-red blotch on his white shirt.
He looked down, too, and pressed his hand against the right side of his chest. The red stain got larger, blood seeping through his fingers.
“Papi, you’ve been shot!”
My father took a deep breath and focused on the road again. “Cassie, I always tried to protect you. You have to know that.”
“Uh-huh.” I ignored what he was saying. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
He gave me a slight nod. “I know. There’s one right over this bridge.” He paused, his breathing becoming more labored. “You have to know that you can’t trust anyone.”
Up ahead I could see an ambulance pulling into a large brick building that looked like a fortress. “Okay, we’ll tell the police and—”
“You can’t trust them, either. We don’t know who might be involved with the Hastati.” He pulled up behind the ambulance. “As soon as I get inside, you need to run. Go find Brother Gregorio at the San Carlo Monastery. He can help.”
“Run away?” I glanced over at my father; his normal olive complexion had turned ashen. “No way. I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to.” He shifted the car into park. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay.” He moaned while getting something from his jacket. “Take this with you,” he said, pulling out a yellow envelope from his suit pocket. “Always remember that I love you … to the moon and back.”
“Don’t talk like that. Just give it to me later.” I waved it off, but he placed the envelope on my lap anyway.
“Take it.” He slumped against the door, eyes closed.
“Papi!” There was no time to waste. “Aiuto! Aiuto!” I yelled in Italian while jumping out of the car.
“No, no!” A paramedic jerked his hands around, motioning for us to move the car. “Non si può parcheggiare qui!”
I ignored him. There was no time to worry about proper parking when my dad was hurt—maybe dying. “Mio padre … morendo,” I shouted back at him with my mangled Italian as I ran around the car and opened the driver-side door. “¡Está herido!” I added in Spanish, because I’d forgotten the Italian word for injured and figured this might be close enough.
My father almost fell out of the car, but I propped him back up. “Cassie, Brother Gregorio … at the San Carlo Monastery,” he whispered. “He’s the only one who can help us.” He glanced over at the yellow envelope resting against the gearshift. “Take that and go.” His eyes grew glassy. “Promise me,” he pleaded. “Por favor, m’ija.”
“Brother Gregorio,” I repeated, not wanting to forget. “Got it.” I gave my dad’s hand a gentle squeeze as the paramedic pushed me aside. “I’ll go as soon as I know you’re okay.”
The moment the paramedic saw my father was bleeding from a gunshot wound, he began calling in Italian for other people to come. I only understood something about a weapon and the polizia.
With what seemed like his last ounce of strength, Dad shoved the paramedic away and pulled me closer. “Cassie, if you love me, please go. Now.” The intensity of his voice was chilling. “Your life … and so much more … depends on it. Promise me, please.”
Tears were welling up in my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
His hand trembled as he touched my cheek. “Cass …” He could barely get my name out.
I nodded, not wanting him to waste any more energy. “Okay, I promise, Papi. I promise.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel. I had no idea where I was supposed to go. The nurses who had taken my father away had wanted me to follow them in, but I’d told them that I needed to wait for my mother outside. They seemed to buy the lie, giving me a few minutes to pull my thoughts together.
I really did wish I was waiting for my mother—or any relative—to show up. But there was no one else to depend on; it was just my dad and me. The way it had always been.
I glanced around. The hospital’s emergency entrance was now eerily quiet after the frenzied activity only minutes earlier. Was I really supposed to just l
eave my dad here, even if that’s what I promised him?
The yellow envelope my dad had given me lay next to the gearshift.
It was just one of those ordinary mustard-colored envelopes with the metal clasp on the flap, except this one had been folded in half and tied with a blue cord.
As I picked it up and slipped off the cord, I saw that my dad had left a smear of blood across it. Inside, I could see American passports and a couple of notebooks bound together by a rubber band. I stuck my hand in to pull the items out, but a loud knock at my window made me jump.
“Signorina, va bene?” a police officer asked me.
I quickly closed the envelope and put it under my legs. “Yes, I’m fine … tutto bene,” I said through the raised window. “Just waiting for someone.”
The police officer stared inside the car, checking things out. My heartbeat quickened as I realized that my father’s gun was still under the seat. Could my dad—or even I—get arrested if it were found? I tried to stay calm, but tears started to form behind my eyes.
The officer finally pursed his lips and muttered something about no-parking zones before turning on his heel and walking away.
I let out a big sigh of relief, but it was obvious I couldn’t stay here much longer without raising suspicion. But where should I go? I couldn’t imagine going home by myself right now. Whoever shot my dad probably knew where we lived. And without my phone I had no idea how to find Brother Gregorio.
“Simone,” I muttered to myself. At her place I’d be safe and could try to find out more about Brother Gregorio and the San Carlo Monastery. All I had to do was find a metro station, and then I’d be able to figure out how to get to her house.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to muster up every ounce of courage I had. “You can do this, Cassie,” I told myself. “You can be brave.”
I grabbed the envelope, stuffed it in my bag, and got out of the car. The moment I stepped outside, a wave of panic at being completely unprotected hit me. Immediately, I jumped back into the car.
I would move it away from the entrance and take a moment to calm myself. I started the car and let it roll out of the driveway. I was approaching the hospital exit when something in one of the side-view mirrors caught my eye.
A man in black clothes and a dark-tinted helmet with flames on the side had parked his motorcycle right in front of the hospital entrance, the same place I’d been a few moments earlier. My car was partially hidden by a delivery van, so I stayed put and watched as he took off his helmet, revealing curly dark hair and light skin. He placed his helmet on the motorcycle. There was no way I could be sure if this was the guy who had just shot my father, but it was too much of a coincidence. I couldn’t take the chance and let him go inside and finish the job. I had to do something.
I pushed down on the car horn as hard as I could.
BEEEEEEEEEEEP!
I rolled down the window. “Hey!” I yelled and waved my arm. “Over here!”
The man paused, looked my way, then ran toward me.
I floored the gas pedal, hitting the curb of the driveway before peeling out toward the main avenue. In the rearview mirror I could see him turning back—probably to get his motorcycle, but it didn’t matter because I was already turning the corner, darting in front of a bus, and merging into Rome’s traffic.
My heart was beating faster than ever and my breath was coming in and out in short little puffs. Hopefully I’d managed to get him away from my father, but for how long?
Stopping at a red light, I checked the rearview mirror. There was no sign of the guy on the motorcycle. Maybe I was safe for now.
The light changed and I slowly moved the car forward. Cars were beeping at me as I tightly clenched the steering wheel. I pulled over onto a quiet street, knowing that I was only going to draw more attention to myself if I kept driving.
“Think, Cassie … THINK!” I said out loud.
Driving in Rome was incredibly confusing—it wasn’t at all like the times Papi let me try driving on the empty country roads. In Rome, there were one-ways, dead ends, and streets that circled around to bring you back to where you started. I might drive myself right into the gunman’s path. My only option was to find a metro station.
I grabbed my bag and ventured out, keeping my head down to avoid being recognized.
After what seemed like an hour of aimless roaming, I stumbled across the Valle Aurelia metro station. Running down the steps, I stopped to read the subway map and saw that I was on a direct line to Spagna—the station closest to Simone’s place. My hand shook as I pulled out my metro card. From where I stood, I could hear the screeching sound of a train arriving. I pushed through the turnstile, my heart beating fast and hard as I ran to the train and jumped aboard.
There were only a few people in the subway car, but I couldn’t take any chances. I grabbed a newspaper from the floor and hid behind it until I reached my destination.
Exiting the Spagna Station, I became almost giddy with the knowledge that I’d soon be safe. I ran down the block, sideswiping a woman wearing ridiculously high heels, before reaching the three-story building.
“Please let Simone be home,” I prayed, checking over my shoulder and then pressing the doorbell.
“Alo?” the housekeeper answered through the speaker.
“Niurka, it’s Cassie. Can you buzz me in?” I eyed two kids passing by on their skateboards.
“Who?”
“Niurka!” Simone called out from somewhere in the background. “Let her in!”
“Yes, of course, Miss Simone.”
A long buzz and a click unlocked the front door.
“Miss Simone is upstairs,” Niurka said, barely looking at me as she headed out and I rushed in. “Tell her I’ll be back with the groceries in a little while.”
Once inside, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over me.
“Get on up here!” Simone called out from the top of the circular stairs. “Are you in a ton of trouble? Did your dad completely flip about your grade?”
Simone’s smile disappeared when she saw the expression on my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, slowly coming down the stairs.
I tried to move and my knees began to buckle. It was as if all the adrenaline that had been coursing through my body had suddenly been sucked out, leaving me with nothing.
“Cassie.” Simone took the remaining steps two at a time. “You’re scaring me.”
I crumpled to the ground. “Everything is so messed up. I don’t know what to do.”
“Did something happen with your dad? You two have a fight or something?” Simone crouched down next to me. “You know you can stay here. It’s just me and Niurka most of the time anyway.”
“That’s not it.” I took a deep, shaky breath. Then another.
Simone waited for me to explain, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t even know if my father was okay. The only thing that was certain was that he was depending on me and I couldn’t let him down.
I had to pull it together.
I would pull it together.
“Your computer,” I muttered, standing up. “I need to use it.”
“Um, okay.” Simone nodded, confused at my sudden shift of moods. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Don’t know if you’d even believe me.”
“It can’t be that bad. I’ve probably been in just as much trouble.”
I gave her a halfhearted smile. “Then I guess it’s just your average someone-wants-to-kill-me kind of day.”
It was a scene that had played out a hundred times since I’d moved to Italy: Simone on her bed checking her cell phone and me sprawled on the papasan chair her mother had shipped over from Indonesia. Only everything felt different now.
“I just can’t believe you got shot at,” Simone said, looking up the hospital’s phone number while I searched on her laptop for information on Brother Gregorio and the San Carlo Monastery. “It’s like a James B
ond movie or something.”
“Yeah, except my dad is not James Bond.” I paused to read the link I’d found about the San Carlo Monastery. It had a small map, but didn’t say much except that it was considered an inactive monastery. “Do you think inactive means abandoned?” I asked Simone.
“Who knows?” She pointed to the phone. “You still want me to call the hospital?”
I nodded. “Your Italian is better.” I got off the chair, walked to the antique desk, and grabbed the screenshot I’d sent to print. “This place is a couple of blocks from the Colosseum. Do you think—”
“Shh.” Simone held up a finger. In the nasal voice of Headmistress Flemming, she asked the other person on the line about the condition of Felipe Arroyo.
I folded the paper and put it in my messenger bag, which I’d kept slung across my body. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I stood in front of Simone. A lump had formed in my throat. I needed to hear that my dad was okay, because if he wasn’t …
I shook my head and pushed away the thought. He would be fine. He had to be.
After a brief pause, Simone whispered, “Sit.” She tapped the bed. “They have me on hold.”
I stayed standing and fidgeted with the bag’s strap. I couldn’t waste any more time. The moment Simone got information on my dad, I’d head out to find Brother Gregorio.
“Seriously. You might as well sit because you’re not leaving without me anyway.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. It was one thing to stick together and maybe skip school one day, but this was totally different. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Simone shrugged. “I’m not asking for permission.”
“Um, didn’t you hear me earlier? Someone wants to kill me. As in shoot me. With a real gun. And bullets.”
“Uh-huh.” She looked at me as if that were nothing. “So?”
“So?! You could get killed! I’m probably already putting you in danger by just being here.” I paced back and forth in front of the bed.
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