Massimo lifts his handcuffed hands and lightly brushes Zara’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “Hello, Zahara.” His voice is strange as he says it. Softer. Almost like it was before. My sister just keeps staring at the ground, her body stiff. Her knuckles look nearly white as she grips the hem of her blouse. Massimo’s hands fall from Zara’s face, and then he walks away with the security guards trailing after him. “Zahara?” I lift an eyebrow. No one calls my sister by her full name. When she was little, she couldn’t pronounce it, so she kept referring to herself as Zara, and it kind of
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Ohhhhh. a little love?
