“I’m sick. I just know something awful happened to Timothy.”

  Crossing her arms, Gia looked down and shook her head. “We will find the fuckers who did this and make them pay.”

  Rose noted that Gia didn’t contradict her statement. Something awful had happened. They both knew it.

  “Gia?”

  “Yes, babe?”

  “Is there anything else we can do? To find Timothy? To help him?”

  Gia slowly shook her head.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about that, honestly, Rose,” she said. “You know I would do anything for that boy. He’s like family…but with that said, I think all we can do right now is wait. I think we’ve done everything we can. Unless some new information comes to light, we really are helpless. It’s horrible to even say it out loud, I know, but I’m not going to lie to you.”

  Rose took a deep breath and then spoke. “That’s what I was thinking,” she said in a soft voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Gia said.

  Rose looked up. “You need to go to Paris. You need the time away. You’ve spent the last four years taking care of me and Nico. That’s all you do. All the time.”

  “That’s what I want to do, Rose,” she said.

  “I get that,” Rose said. “But you need to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of anyone else. You taught me that, remember?”

  Gia nodded.

  “So promise me you’ll go?”

  “I don’t know,” Gia said.

  Then Rose played her winning card. “Paolo is going to stay at my place for the next few days. He’s being all macho like I need protection. I’m going to let him sleep on the couch.”

  Looking at Gia, Rose didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying. She held her breath as she waited for Gia to answer.

  Gia looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

  Rose smiled.

  Gia wouldn’t let Rose walk home, and instead stuck her in a cab.

  Leaning in, Gia said, “Just indulge me and be extra careful while I’m gone. Just in case this had something to do with you.” She handed Rose a small bag. “And keep this with you at all times. Just to humor me, okay?”

  “I promise,” Rose said and meant it. By the heft of the bag, Rose knew it contained a gun—something she very much wanted to have with her if she found out who had taken Timothy.

  Rose stared out the window as the cab driver headed for the Gothic Quarter. The city was always so beautiful at night. She looked at it bleakly.

  Everything seemed watered down and bland in her life without Timothy. She wondered if she’d ever feel happy again. Even seeing her father hadn’t cheered her up at all.

  Though it was heartbreaking to see Nico’s decline, Rose always felt better after spending time with him. Not this time.

  Her phone rang. It was Gia.

  “The detective called. They let the man go. They couldn’t hold him. His alibi stuck. They’re still processing the apartment, so he won’t be going back there so don’t bother going to find him, Rose.”

  Crap, that woman could read her mind. Most of the time.

  “What about the kidnapping investigation?”

  “They said if he was being held for ransom, we would’ve heard by now.”

  Rose felt a lump of dread roiling in her stomach. It wasn’t surprising news, but it hurt to hear it out loud.

  “What do they think, then?” she asked and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  There was a long pause before Gia said, “They said based on the amount of blood they found, it’s unlikely that Timothy is alive.”

  Rose closed her eyes. No. No. No. She opened her eyes again. The cab was stopped at a red light. She watched an old man walking along the sidewalk, carrying an open bottle of alcohol. Across the street, she could see in the window of a flat. A woman was working at her computer.

  A few windows down she could see a couple embracing.

  There was no privacy in Barcelona.

  “Rose?” Gia’s voice brought her back and she remembered what she’d tried to forget: it’s unlikely that Timothy is alive.

  “But he could be?” Rose said as the car started moving again.

  “Of course.”

  “They won’t stop looking, right?” Rose said.

  “Of course not.”

  They both knew Gia was lying.

  Rose hung up.

  With the bag on her lap, she felt her heart harden.

  Gia had talked about making someone pay.

  If Rose had her way, that would be the understatement of the century.

  It was up to her now.

  And in an instant, any lingering dream of a normal life left her.

  She thought of the tattoo on her back and knew she would get another in the near future. She would save it for when she had avenged Timothy.

  It would go on her back, above the blood & roses tattoo. This one would be up by her shoulders.

  It was from an ancient art book she’d found in the Barcelona street market.

  She and Timothy had perused it for hours one night over a bottle of wine.

  Thinking back now, she couldn’t believe how blind she’d been.

  They’d sat on the rug with their backs against the couch. They were side by side with their legs touching, and she’d held the large book on her lap. Several candles dripping wax had been moved to the edge of the nearby coffee table to give them light. There was soft music playing in the background—a sexy song by Massive Attack. They smoked and drank red wine and slowly turned the pages of the book, discussing each picture.

  Timothy’s head was bowed close to hers.

  Thinking back, she could recall how he smelled—of clean shampoo and red wine and something that sent a wave of desire through her now. How could she still smell him? She could recall his scent instantaneously. It was both the best and worst thing ever. She gave an audible gasp of despair, and the cab driver met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

  She looked away.

  Yes, she would avenge Timothy, and then she would get a tattoo to mark that moment when she left the life of an art student behind and became an assassin.

  Art student?

  That girl was gone.

  Instead her back would be covered with the image from the art book: a voluptuous young woman with flowing hair and massive, velvety wings holding a sword dripping blood.

  The angel of death.

  Fifteen

  Rose

  Rose stood on her balcony as the sun set. It lit up the ornate spires of the Gothic Cathedral, turning the gray an eerie red. She lifted her binoculars and trained them on the statue of St. Helen perched high on top of a spindly spire and then lowered them to the gargoyles.

  As she did, she became lost in a memory.

  She’d been living in Barcelona about a year and had forged an unbreakable friendship with Timothy, the gangly but cute boy who plopped down on the sand beside her when she first arrived, saying he’d been waiting a year to see her again.

  Their friendship was magnetic, and they had so much to talk about that they would say goodbye at dinner time and then talk on the phone all night long until they slept for a few hours only to meet in person again the next day.

  “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Rose said.

  “I think it’s high time we meet him,” Nico said.

  When Timothy walked into their apartment and met Gia and Eva, he was in disbelief.

  Eva, wearing a loose black silk blouse and black leather leggings with tall black boots, looked like an Amazonian pirate.

  Gia, a head shorter than Eva, wore a sexy black backless maxi sundress and bare feet.

  They looked like mother and daughter even though they were aunt and niece.

  Later, stunned at meeting the two Italian women dressed all in black. Timothy would say, “They are a little like rock stars or movie stars or queens.”

  After the awkward introductions, Rose hurried Timothy through their Gothic Quarter apartment to her bedroom where they could hide out until dinner.

  The apartment had been transformed into a magical dining hall.

  The family’s large dining room table was flanked on both sides by floor to ceiling bookshelves. A third wall was covered in mirrors and sconces filled with dripping wax candles. The fourth side opened up to the rest of the apartment which offered distant views of the Gothic Cathedral glowing in the background.

  Nico and Gia had chosen the apartment for the views. There were balconies on each side. One overlooked the narrow street filled with specialty shops selling cheese, wine, bread, and coffee. The opposite balcony presented a spectacular view of the famed cathedral—the Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulàlia—although its famous gargoyles could only be seen with binoculars.

  Rose kept a pair in her bedroom so she could see the gargoyles whenever she wanted.

  As soon as Timothy came into her room, he spotted the binoculars on the nightstand and picked them up, aiming them at the cathedral.

  While the entire city featured a disproportionate number of gargoyles and witches and dragons built as rooftop drains, these gargoyles spoke to her because they guarded St. Eulalia’s tomb inside the cathedral.

  Eulalia had been one of the patron saints of Barcelona who was martyred during Roman times. When the soldiers made her stand naked in the square, snow had fallen out of clear blue skies to cover her up.

  But Rose kept that detail to herself. She simply told Timothy that she loved the gargoyles.

  Timothy spoke with his eyes still peering through the binoculars. “Did you know that ‘gargoyle’ stems from the French gargouille?” he asked.

  “No, and I don’t speak French,” she said.

  “It means throat,” he said, setting the binoculars down. “The gargoyles’ mouths and throats are spouts for the water on the roof to drain, and when the water comes out it makes a gurgling noise.”

  “What?” Rose said, wrinkling her nose. “Are you making that up?”

  Timothy burst into laughter. “No.”

  There was a knock at the door. It was Nico.

  Even though Rose was thirteen, which felt like an adult to her, Nico had a strict rule about not having the door shut when Timothy was over.

  She had told her father several times that it wasn’t like that. They were best friends and it was so old-fashioned for him to think that a boy and girl couldn’t just be friends.

  “Rose’s room has the best view of the cathedral,” Nico said.

  “It’s nice to look at, but I prefer La Sagrada Familia for sheer uniqueness,” Timothy said nonchalantly.

  Rose froze. “Um, Timothy is going to study architecture,” she said hurriedly.

  It wasn’t that he was being disrespectful to her dad, it was just, somehow, an insouciant comment.

  Rose watched as Nico took Timothy in, sweeping over his black wavy hair, the little bit of rash on his neckline from shaving, over his wrinkled button-down shirt, slacks, and polished shoes. He must’ve liked what he saw because he gave a slow smile and said, “I agree. It is my favorite cathedral in Spain. However, it does not hold a candle to the one in my home country. In Taxco.”

  “The Santa Prisca Cathedral is a gem,” Timothy agreed, immediately impressing Nico by knowing its name. “It has many of the elements that I love about La Sagrada Familia, but when it comes to Mexican Cathedrals, I especially love the Parroquia de San Miguel Arcangel in San Miguel de Allende.”

  Nico beamed. “What? That is my town! That is where Rose and I lived!”

  Timothy lit up. “That is an amazing cathedral. I dream of seeing it in person one day.”

  Rose smiled as the two of them headed into the dining room. She would never tell her father that she’d prepped Timothy to say that. He’d been so nervous to meet her dad, she’d given him something to break the ice. And when he saw pictures of the cathedral, often called the Pink Wedding Cake Church, he did genuinely fall in love with it.

  Rose admired that Timothy held his own among the three most important and intimidating adults in her life.

  Rose didn’t know if Eva was there to meet Timothy or if it had been a coincidence.

  Dinner went well for the most part. Timothy held his own in conversation with the others, Rose thought. But it was still incredibly awkward.

  For some reason, Gia and Eva both got super excited when they saw the necklace Timothy was wearing. It was a gold horn and hand that he always had on. Rose had never paid much attention to it besides thinking it looked kind of cool.

  “You’re Italian?” Eva said with a knowing smile.

  “How’d you know?” Timothy had said, smiling back.

  “Your necklace.”

  “Aha,” he said. “Of course. Yes. My father and mother are a little old-fashioned. They believe in the malocchio and all that. Me and my brothers all got these when we turned twelve.”

  “Believing in the malocchio is not old-fashioned,” Gia said.

  “What is the malocchio, and what does the necklace have to do with it?” Rose asked.

  Eva explained that Il Malocchio was what Italians called the evil eye. It is usually when people are jealous and wish you bad luck. The hand and the horn—cornetti and cornetto—protect against evil wishes and evil in general, she said.

  “Cool,” Rose said and they all laughed.

  After dinner, Rose walked Timothy downstairs, and they stood in the street talking.

  “What did you think?” Rose said, cringing.

  “Nico is great. I could talk to him all day long.”

  Rose couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her face. “I think he likes you too,” she said.

  “You think?” Timothy said and made a funny face.

  Rose shrugged. “My father…it’s a long story, but he’s lived a crazy life. More unbelievable than I can even explain. Maybe someday he’ll tell you about it.”

  “You won’t tell me?” Timothy said.

  Rose shook her head. “It’s his story to tell.”

  “And Eva and Gia?” she said. “What do you think of them?”

  “They frighten me.”

  Rose burst into laughter. But Timothy nodded his head.

  “Like, they are beautiful and strong, but I get the feeling they would kill me without blinking if I ever got you in trouble or hurt you in any way.”

  When she didn’t respond, Timothy cleared his throat. “I mean you’re more likely to be the trouble maker than me. At least that’s what I told them.”

  They both burst into laughter, and the awkward moment was gone.

  “I can see where you get your strength from, Rose.”

  The comment felt like a barb. Rose whirled on him.

  “I’m nothing like them!” she said heatedly.

  “Whoa!” Timothy said and put out his palm while backing up slightly, but Rose didn’t even see him.

  “They are hard,” she said angrily. “I don’t ever want to be like that. Or like them. They have done things…unspeakable things…I’m not like them.”

  Then, it was as if she snapped back. She looked up and Timothy was standing there with an eyebrow raised. “Wow. I didn’t mean to piss you off, Rose. I thought I was complimenting you.”

  She crossed her arms and shook her head.

  He moved over and put his arm around her. She shook it off.

  But he would not be rebuffed. He moved right in front of her until she calmed down enough to look up at him.

  “Rose, if you don’t want to be like that, you won’t be like that.”

  His words soothed her. She’d over-reacted. She exhaled and said, “I just want a simple life. I want to go to college and then have a career as a graphic designer and then get married and have kids one day.”

  Timothy listened with a serious look on his face and then said, “Hey, I haven’t known you that long, but I feel like I know you, if that makes sense?”

  It did. Rose nodded.

  “I’m certain that if you want that, you’ll have it.”

  Remembering this as the light faded on the cathedral, Rose knew that despite her best intentions, she was exactly like Eva and Gia.

  A killer.

  Sixteen

  Rose

  It was so easy that she kicked herself for not realizing it beforehand.

  The password to all Timothy’s accounts—Rose.

  When she typed in her own name and gained access to all his social media accounts, tears streamed down her face.

  But she didn’t have time to cry.

  It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for.

  It was an avatar for a girl named Lana who had added Timothy to Snapchat the night of Rose’s birthday. Rose looked at their chat history.

  “Sorry to bother you. I’m a friend of Paolo’s in town for the soccer game. I’m in a scary situation with some guys and can’t reach him. Do you think you could just wait with me until my cab comes? I see on Snapmap you are close by me”

  “Of course,” Timothy had replied. His response had come moments after he’d left her apartment.

  Rose’s face grew ice cold.

  Lane. It had to be. Lana. Lane. It was too obvious.

  The avatar showed a blonde girl. But hair color could be easily changed. The store owner had said Timothy had been with a blonde woman.

  It had begun as an intense dislike of a fellow solider at Eva’s boot camp and turned into a dark, twisted rivalry.

  A woman with cropped brown hair and thick eyebrows was scowling at her. Her narrowed eyes roamed over Rose from head to toe. Rose stopped and frowned. She’d had bullies be cruel to her in San Diego, but she’d never had someone who was almost an adult look at her that way.

  Later, when they were in Eva’s office looking down on the soldiers who had resumed training, Rose asked Eva about the young woman.

  “That’s Elana. She goes by Lane. She’s seventeen. She is one of our newest recruits. She came down from Rome. She’s very good. I’m grooming her to be my top soldier, one who will train the others. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason,” Rose had said. “She just reminds me of someone.”