CHAPTER 75

GIOVANNA CAME HOME TO a house that was dead quiet. Not a “peace and quiet” type of silence. It was unnatural. Noiseless. Nothing like the way it was when she used to go to Maggie’s house after school. Lately, it’d been Kat’s house, but her place was totally different. Giovanna’s house was quiet. Maggie’s had peace. Kat’s had neither.

Honestly? She was glad Kat didn’t invite her over today, even though it was obvious Alexa had been invited. The whole exclusion thing was just another form of manipulation. A cruel little game they played, and Giovanna was sick of it.

Besides, she needed this time to make some progress on her list —just in case. Mom wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. More than enough time.

The gun Mom kept in her room wasn’t hard to find. Giovanna lifted it out of Mom’s nightstand. The trigger lock was loose on the bottom of the drawer. Sure, she had trigger locks for each gun. She just didn’t use them for the same reason she refused to get a gun safe. It made sense, in a weird sort of way. If Mom really needed the gun, she’d want to get it fast —without the slowdown of commonsense safety.

The gun was completely black. And heavy. Obviously made for a hand a lot bigger than hers. The name Glock was stamped on the barrel. Model 19. She wrapped her hand around the grip. Slowly —like any sudden move might set the thing off. The steel cold —her hands sweating. Was it loaded? Of course it was. She didn’t dare get near the trigger. She’d never wanted to touch the thing —but last summer Mom had taken her to the range and made her shoot it anyway. She’d insisted Giovanna know how to load and fire it —just in case. But holding the Glock now —without Mom —was scarier somehow. Her heart was doing the mambo in her chest. And her mom expected Giovanna to carry one of these when she started dating?

She carried the pistol to her room with both hands, holding it out in front of her like the thing was radioactive. She smoothed the blanket on her bed. Laid the gun on top.

The fact that Mom had a gun in her nightstand, one on the first floor, and one in her purse seemed excessive. Redundancy. Isn’t that the word Mom used? Always have a backup.

But the way Giovanna saw things, having that many guns around said a lot more about how her mom didn’t trust men. Mom would probably hide a gun in every room in the house if she could afford it. Which was kind of schizophrenic thinking, wasn’t it? If she had such a high-caliber mistrust for men, why keep going out with them?

Finding the gun downstairs took a little more time. But in the end, she found it in the most obvious spot —the back of the liquor cabinet. The Glock looked identical to the one upstairs, but this one had a custom finish. The words Don’t Tread on Me were written along the length of the barrel in that familiar Revolutionary War script. A coiled snake sat on the top of the slide —ready to strike. Giovanna wasn’t sure what the point of the custom graphics was. Was shooting someone supposed to be patriotic somehow? A box of bullets was stashed behind the liquor. Jackpot. She brought the gun upstairs to her room and laid it next to the other one. Evil twins.

She held the solid-black one. Black death. She released the magazine, and it dropped onto the bed. She counted fifteen bullets. Fully loaded. Mom was prepared for anything, it seemed. Giovanna clicked the magazine back in place.

Once her hands stopped shaking, Giovanna pulled back the slide, which was just as smooth and easy as she remembered. She chambered a bullet and eased the slide back in place. Mom always said the metallic sound was soothing to her. But to Giovanna? Terrifying would be a better word.

She raised the gun with a two-handed grip and pointed at her closet, sighting down the barrel. Her aim had been pretty good at the range —when the target was close. With one eye closed, she saw just how tricky it would be to keep her aim steady when the adrenalin was pumping. A moving target would be even harder.

Giovanna lowered the gun, racked the slide to eject the bullet from the chamber, and laid the gun on the bed.

How much time had passed? Giovanna checked the clock and peeked out the window. She’d have to hurry.

The magazine for the Don’t Tread on Me Glock was half-empty. Giovanna left the gun on her bed and ran downstairs for the box of shells. Not a minute later she was back in her room, opening the box of ammo. The bullets were strangely soft. Maybe smooth was a better word for it. Could one of these go off in her hand? She handled the bullets carefully —like they were little capsules of nitroglycerin. She loaded the magazine as quickly as she could and slid it back into place.

A car door slammed outside. Mom. Giovanna grabbed the black Glock and ran to her mom’s room. The nightstand drawer still gaped open —like it was as afraid of being caught by Mom as Giovanna was. She placed the gun gently in the drawer, and eased it closed.

“Giovanna?” Mom’s voice echoed from downstairs.

The front door slammed shut. Giovanna tiptoed into the hall —then raced to the doorway of her room. “Yeah, Mom?” The Don’t Tread on Me Glock was still on her bed —and the box of bullets.

She dashed into her room and hid the gun and bullets under her pillow.

“Giovanna!”

Giovanna froze. Had she closed the liquor cabinet? “Coming.”

She darted out into the hallway and took the stairs two at a time. Mom was staring at the open cabinet when Giovanna flew into the room. Mom had a bag in her hand, the necks of two sealed bottles sticking out the top. Restocking.

She set down the bag and pointed at the cabinet. “What were you doing in there?”

Giovanna glanced at the bottles lined up in neat rows, except for the one she’d moved out of the way to get at the Glock and ammo hidden behind it. Did she notice the gun and ammo missing? “I-I was just looking.”

Mom marched over and grabbed Giovanna’s jaw. “Breathe.”

“What?”

She leaned closer. Sniffed the air. “Again.”

Was she afraid Giovanna drank some of her precious liquor? Giovanna glared at her. There was no way Giovanna would do that. Not ever. She’d seen what it did to her mom. She took a step back.

Mom leaned in so close Giovanna could smell the liquor on her breath. “I said, again.”

With her mom already hitting the bottle, how would she tell who had the liquor breath? Giovanna opened her mouth wide and puffed out a breath so hard she could have fogged a mirror from two feet away.

Mom practically stuck her nose into Giovanna’s mouth, sniffed a couple of times, and then backed away. “Okay.” She looked back at the cabinet and nodded. “Okay.”

Giovanna wanted to reach into the cabinet and break every stinking bottle. “Satisfied? I mean, did I pass the Breathalyzer test, officer?”

Mom wagged a finger at her. “Watch your tone, young lady. And I want your word that you’ll never go in this cabinet again without my permission.”

Was Mom trying to protect Giovanna, or just being protective of her liquor? Right now she had to keep Mom’s attention away from the cabinet. If she thought about the gun —and decided to check —how would Giovanna explain why it was on her bed?

“Promise me, Giovanna.”

Giovanna looked at her mom —then back at the cabinet. “I promise.” Keeping that promise wouldn’t be a problem now. She already had everything she needed.