The Death Row Club

Prologue

WE’RE EATING DINNER when our front door explodes.

Large, imposing men flood into our kitchen.

I’m frozen, spoon halfway to my mouth, my terrified eyes locked on the guns in their hands.

Their barrels shift—rapid, frantic—from my dad to me, then back again.

They’re shouting, but their words are smothered under the weight of those guns.

I watch as one of their thumbs, pulled tight with nerves, spasms on the trigger.

Oh god, they’re going to kill us.

My eardrums pop; suddenly, I can hear them, loud and clear: “Police! Get down on the floor! Hands behind your heads!”

I slide onto the linoleum floor. My bowl’s toppled off the table, and my knees settle in warm cheese.

Scattered bits of macaroni squish under their boot treads.

My heart pounding in my chest, I watch as one of the officers digs his knee into the small of my dad’s back, yanking his arms behind him and rucking up his shirtsleeves.

“Nicola.”

My gaze shifts to my dad’s. To his watery blue eyes.

“It’s going to be fine.”

The handcuffs click around his wrists.

“Everything’s going to be fine.”

The officer hauls him upright and drags him out the door. The others follow until our kitchen is silent and empty. My breaths beat against the floor, my limbs trembling. Slowly, I pull myself to my feet and stagger to the gaping hole where our door used to be.

The brisk air hits my face, followed by the glare of lights. I lift my hand to shield my eyes. The engines of the police cars sputter; their radios crackle. My lips part, and words come tumbling out:

“He’s a good man.”

No one’s listening. I take a step forward and raise my voice.

“He’s a good man.”

The officers shove my dad into the back seat. He lifts his hands and gently touches the window, mouths something to me through the glass. I love you? The engines rumble, and the cars careen down the road.

I start jogging, following the headlights until they’re nothing but pinpricks in the distance.

Until they disappear into the night.