“Dad,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice from cracking, “you need a lawyer. Call the embassy. Call—”
“We don’t have time,” he cut in, and now the fear was sharpening into aggression, like it always did with him when he felt cornered. “They’re going to transfer Paul and Monica to a holding cell in Milan if we don’t pay the damages and fines immediately. Tonight. Right now.”
“How much?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer wouldn’t be something I could casually fix.
“Twenty-five thousand euros,” he said. “Cash or immediate wire. The owner agreed to drop the criminal vandalism charges if we pay for the restoration. Otherwise your sister goes to prison. Maddie. Italian prison.”
