Page 39 of Righteous Deceit

I grab my phone, currently nestled between my shoulder and ear, and throw it onto the passenger seat of my car. I weave in and out of traffic, willing the other vehicles to move out of my way with the power of my mind. It doesn’t work, and the harder I pray to move faster, the slower the traffic moves.

I pick up my phone again, eyes moving between the road and the small device as I search for Grace’s number in my contacts. I lodge the phone between my ear and shoulder once again.

“Hi, Alessia.”

A sigh of relief courses through me. “Hi, Grace. Is Lucy with you? I’ve been trying to reach her, but her phone is off.”

“No,” she says. “She mentioned earlier that she had something to take care of. I assumed you picked her up because her car is still at home. She must have taken a cab.”

“Oh—” I clear my throat. “Okay. I’ll keep trying her. I have her chem notes, and we have an exam tomorrow.”

“When I see her, I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks, Grace.” My voice cracks, and I camouflage it with a cough. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She hangs up.

Lucy called me last night, her voice singing with happiness and hope. It set my panic stations alight. I've been on high alert ever since I discovered her illicit affair with my father. The whole situation is a time bomb ready to explode in all our faces. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to protect my best friend.

Lucy has been oblivious to the imminent carnage. She’s idealistically hopeful, and no matter how many times I tell her that her life isn’t going to play out as an ultimate romance fantasy, she laughs. She’s convinced she’salreadyliving the dream.

My father is a handsome man. An older version of Salvatore. A striking man who oozes power and control. He’s wealthy and connected, and as a woman, I can imagine his appeal is strong. But he’s all darkness on the inside and not in a way that entices or intrigues. He’s dangerous, and the outside world twists his menace into one of adventure and the delusion of excitement and obsession. In reality, Edoardo Bianchi is a monster who doesn’t care to hide. Tying yourself to such a man offers only the assurance of a life broken with hate and violence.

Lucy’s phone call last night was to share news of her pregnancy.

Pregnant.

By my father.

My best friend wanted me to be the first to know that I would have a baby brother or sister.

I sat on the line, stunned into silence.

Lucy didn’t like that. She wanted me to be happy for her.

I was rude and uncaring when I told her that it was hard to feel that way for a dead person.

We spent the next forty minutes arguing. Lucy had convinced herself that my discontent was based solely on my refusal to accept her relationship with my father.

She was right, and I admitted that freely. Only my reasons differed from her assumptions.

I begged her to see reason, but she was of the opinion that I didn’tknowEdoardo.

Ultimately, the only concession I could get her to agree to was to meet me this morning for coffeebeforeshe told my father.

But she never showed.

And her phone is off.

My phone rings, and I grab it. “Lucy?”

“No,” my brother responds. “Are you talking on your phone and driving?”

“Salvatore,” I whisper.

“What’s wrong?” His voice changes immediately.

“Lucy didn’t meet me for coffee, and her phone is off.”

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