3
My head snapped up. Two bodyguards were dragging my parents into the courtyard. My mother’s hair was disheveled, and a trickle of blood ran down my father’s temple.
“Dad! Mom!”
“Let them go!” I roared, scrambling to crawl toward them, but Isabelle’s foot pressed down harder on my back, pinning me to the ground.
She crouched, yanking my hair back. “Fine! Release my brother first! Or you can watch me turn your parents into living torsos, piece by piece!”
“Miss, please,” my mother sobbed, her body trembling. “Our Aria is a good girl… she’s not a con artist! She would never do somethi- ng like this!”
“Not a con artist?!” Isabelle snatched an iron rod from one of the guards and brought it down hard on my father’s leg.
A sharp crack echoed through the yard, followed by my father’s agonized scream. The shock sent my mother into a dead faint.
“Dad!” I tried to crawl forward, but Isabelle’s heel dug deeper into my spine. She used the iron rod to lift my father’s chin. “Your dau- ghter kidnapped my brother for money. As her parents, you share the blame. If she won’t talk, you will.”
My father, though contorted in pain, glared at her. “You… monster… my daughter would never…”
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