Chapter 11: The Gyro on the Table

I wrote the first text myself and Nico sent it word for word.

She's tired and lonely. She'll talk if you come alone.

Bianca answered in under a minute.

I'll bring cookies!!

She arrived the next evening at seven, climbing the outside stairs with a white bakery box and her cream cardigan buttoned to the neck.

Her guards stayed in the black SUV at the curb. I watched them through the window.

"Livia," she said at the door. "Can I come in? I know I messed everything up."

I let her in.

Nico sat at my desk with his laptop open and said, "Hi, Bianca."

"Hi, Nico," she said, warm and sorry. "I'm glad you're still here."

She didn't ask what I knew.

She set the cookies on the little table by the window and turned to me with both hands clasped.

"I want to start over," she said. "I know the family has been so unfair to you. I should have said something. I'm so sorry about the trip."

"Thank you," I said.

"Can we be real sisters? Not a trade, not a favor. Just us."

Her eyes were already wet.

I waited until a tear came down.

"I'd like that," I said. "Sit. I'll make tea."

She sat in the chair across from the table.

On the table, next to the cookie box, was a foil-wrapped gyro from the cart on Delmar Street.

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