Chapter 4

Talia''s POV

The police officer seems nice enough.

Officer Martinez sits across from me with a kind smile and gentle voice. But I know better than to trust uniforms.

I haven''t spoken since they brought me here. Can''t. Every time I try to make a sound, my throat feels like it''s on fire.

So I write everything down.

I already told the boy everything, I write on my notepad.

"Kayden? He said you told him your father hurt you. Is that right?"

I nod.

"What''s your father''s name, Talia?"

My hand freezes over the paper. If I tell her, she''ll find him. And if she finds him, he''ll find me.

I can''t.

"You can. You''re safe here."

No one is safe from him.

Martinez leans forward. "Talia, I know you''re scared. But we can protect you. We can make sure he never hurts you again."

I want to laugh but it would hurt too much.

I write: He told me if I ever talked, he would kill me. Then he would kill anyone who helped me.

"He was trying to scare you so you wouldn''t tell anyone. That''s what abusers do."

He killed my friend.

Martinez goes very still. "What friend?"

My hand shakes as I write. I haven''t told anyone this. Not even Kayden.

Four years ago. I had a friend named Emma. She lived next door. She saw him hit me one day and told her parents. They called the police.

"What happened?"

The police came. He lied. Said I fell down the stairs. They believed him.

"And your friend Emma?"

Tears start falling before I can stop them.

She died in a car accident the next week. But it wasn''t an accident. He told me he made sure she couldn''t tell anyone else.

Martinez sets down her pen. "Talia, are you sure about this?"

He described exactly how he did it. What he said to her before she died. He made me watch the news report about her death.

"How old were you?"

Twelve. I haven''t spoken since that day. Too scared.

The room is quiet for a long time. Martinez looks like she''s processing everything I''ve told her.

"Talia, what''s your father''s name?"

I close my eyes. Emma died because she tried to help me. What if talking now gets more people killed?

But I''m so tired of being scared.

Gregor Kozlov.

Martinez writes it down. "Where do you live?"

Chicago. Southside.

"Do you have any other family? Anyone who might be looking for you?"

I shake my head. As far as I know, it''s just been me and Gregor since Mom died.

He bought me when I was five.

Martinez''s pen stops moving. "Bought you?"

From my mom. She needed drug money. He gave her five thousand dollars and she left.

"Talia, what do you remember before you were five?"

I think hard. There are pieces. Fragments of memories that don''t quite fit together.

Music. Someone playing piano. A man with dark hair who called me ''principessa.'' A big house.

"Principessa means princess in Italian."

I know. I speak Italian.

"You do?"

I nod and write in Italian: My name is Talia Bianchi and I want to go home.

Martinez stares at what I''ve written.

"Talia, can you write your full name again? The name you just wrote?"

Talia Bianchi. But Gregor made me use his last name.

She''s looking at me strangely now. Like she recognizes something.

"I need to make a phone call," she says, standing up quickly. "I''ll be right back."

After she leaves, I lie back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling.

Bianchi. I haven''t thought about that name in years. Gregor beat me every time I said it when I was little.

But sometimes, late at night, I still dream about the man who called me principessa.

I wonder if he''s still looking for me.