ALERA

“Hello, Miss Vance.”

His voice rumbles low and deep, smooth with that faint Italian lilt I haven’t heard in days. It slithers through my veins like warm brandy, making my heart leap straight into my throat.

I swallow, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. “Hi,” I stammer, glancing at my father’s still form on the hospital bed. I quietly step out of the room, closing the door gently behind me.

“It’s been days,” I say, my voice barely above a ...