Cassie wished she’d been able to take photos or even film the dreadful abuse that she’d witnessed last night. But as soon as she’d realized that the horror was ongoing, she had rushed to help Venetia and hadn’t thought about recording it. Filming might have allowed her to collect valuable evidence—but every moment’s delay would have meant more pain for the young girl. Plus, the scene had played out all the way across the courtyard and in poor light. She wasn’t sure that her cheap, low-spec phone would have taken usable footage.
She would just have to do her best and describe the incident as she had witnessed it. If they investigated promptly they would find that the bruises on Venetia’s back matched up with her description of what had occurred.
As she zigzagged her way into the town center, Cassie got more and more nervous. She hoped that she’d be able to report this anonymously and that they wouldn’t ask her for her personal details. She wondered when they would schedule their visit to the home, and hoped that it wouldn’t be today. Ms. Rossi would know instantly who had filed the complaint, so she didn’t want to be there when the authorities arrived.
Cassie gripped the wheel, trying to reassure herself that nothing would go wrong, and that her last-ditch attempt at saving the children would not backfire horribly on her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Despite the risks, Cassie was committed to making the report at Social Services. She knew she would have to do her utmost to make sure they took it seriously. The children would suffer terribly if this level of abuse continued, and over time, their personalities might be warped into the same dreadful mold. They would lose any hope of leading a happy, normal life, or even having a childhood. Instead, they would be forced, through fear and torment, into becoming replicas of their mother.
Cassie felt cold when she thought of these girls one day treating their children the same way because it was the only way they knew, and they had been conditioned into a cycle of cruelty.
As she drove into town, Cassie comforted herself by imagining the children, in a better life, driving with her. This was what her role should have included all along. She should have been riding around with them all over the place—for a haircut, clothes shopping, to visit friends, or even for a special treat to see one of the city’s sights.
The whole of Milan was a visual feast. She supposed that Nina and Venetia would consider it normal, having grown up in it, but she was constantly amazed by the history and culture evident in every twist and turn of the road. The majestic buildings in shades of earth and stone, with filigree spires stretching into the mist. The ornate windows decorated with colorful brickwork. The stone gargoyles and statues, each one a unique work of art.
Here she was. To her relief, she recognized the distinctive stone building with its elaborate windows and balconies from the photo on the map. It impressed her as an imposing and historic structure, and she guessed that in a city where style and architecture were celebrated, even the mundane local services were housed in beauty.
After a hunt for parking, she found a narrow space a few streets down. Squeezing her car into it, she hurried back to the main entrance. She paused outside, shivering in the chilly morning air while she gathered her thoughts.
She had to come across as calm, responsible, and credible. Giving an incoherent report, or becoming emotional, would let the children down and this might affect their lives forever.
Once she was sure she had her thoughts in order, Cassie headed inside.
“I need child protection services, please,” she asked the receptionist at the front desk. “I am here to report a case of abuse.”
“Address? What part of Milan?” the receptionist asked.
Cassie looked up the home’s address on her phone and read it out in full.
The receptionist tapped some buttons on her phone and spoke rapidly in Italian before turning back to Cassie.
“Please take a seat. We are busy today so there will be a short wait.”
Her English was strongly accented, and she looked tired and world-weary, as if she’d seen too many cases of the kind Cassie was describing.
Cassie took a seat on one of the hard benches. The large waiting room was cool, and smelled of old dust overlaid with floor polish. She was starting to worry how long this would take, especially since every other person who arrived seemed to have been given a number. Periodically, the numbers were called out over a loudspeaker and flashed up onto a screen.
She hadn’t been allocated one, and didn’t know why, but guessed it might be because of the nature of her complaint. The other people waiting might be in line for routine services, while reporting abuse was more serious. Or had the receptionist made a mistake? Cassie checked the time on her phone and decided if she sat for longer than half an hour, she’d go back to the receptionist and ask again. She needed to be home before Nonna arrived, or Ms. Rossi would be angry and start asking questions about where she’d been.
The notices on the wall were all in Italian, and Cassie spent some time trying to work out what they said. She realized that thanks to the books she’d bought, she could already understand some of the basic phrases, and wondered how much longer it would take to reach a standard where she could be hired as a waitress. From tomorrow she would be unemployed, and would need to find lodgings and another job. First, she planned to drive to Bellagio, so she could discover the truth about her sister.
Cassie’s thoughts strayed to Jacqui and she found herself wondering what would have happened if anybody had reported her father to the authorities when the two of them were younger.
She doubted
