"No," Anita said, her voice dropping into a low, fierce register that made Nova howl in approval. "He thinks he can send me to the quarters and take you to the mountains. He thinks he can separate us. He's wrong. Its time I start digging."
She picked up the yellow book, clutching it to her chest like a weapon. Every drawing now felt like a map leading back to her own soul.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed in the hallway. The scent of cedar, smoke, and healing blood preceded him. Gotti was coming.
"Hide the book, Nero," Anita commanded softly.
Nero quickly snatched the sketchbook and shoved it back under his pillow just as the door swung open. Gotti stood in the frame, looking battered and weary, his arm in a sling and his face a mask of exhausted authority. He didn't look at Anita; his focus was entirely on his son.
"Nero. The cars are idling. We are leaving," Gotti said, his voice a rough sandpaper rasp. "Don't make me have Rowan carry you."
