Read an Excerpt: Chapter 7

Maybe there is someone who can help.
A big fat maybe.
Maybe that chick at Tahini’s… But she looks like she’s all for this modelin’ and fashion shit.
I’ll have to watch her. Feel her out.
She could take this to the press — the wrong way.
Then I’d be screwed.
No one is gettin’ my story — just Bella’s — unless it saves her freakin’ life.
This is such bullshit! Girls are wastin’ away and worse.
And no one seems to give a crap. No one gives a crap about an asshole who pay’s off the press to bleed a story dry. His victims. Silenced and lost.
But I do. And I’m comin’ for ya, tough guy.
My phone buzzes.
The pic comes in of a naked girl on a billboard with the caption: “Anorexic French Model Isabelle Caro Dead.”
I stare at the pic.
It’s not pretty. I see bones, a skeleton, a desperate cry-for-help face.
More bones than flesh.
Barely any freakin’ life left.
I run to the bathroom and puke.
Is Bella next?
I sink to the floor and close my eyes.
Memories of a life that existed before all this shit comes back full force.
When people ask where I grew up, I say the city. New York. I didn’t exist before I was twenty-three.
But I’d be lyin’ if I said I couldn’t remember much past my twenty-third birthday.
Cause I remember. All of it.

About the Author

Angela Litterio

Angela Litterio

Angela is an author finalizing her debut upmarket/literary novel. Meet the fascinating characters and walk in Olivia's shoes as she takes on a deranged designer hell-bent on seeking revenge on the Astor's dynasty. His fashion show at the famed Waldorf Astoria hotel becomes a web of deceit, deadly plots and a little haute couture gone cold. Welcome to New York City's Fashion Week! When not writing, she's thinking about writing, so this saying fits: "There are more importing things than your book. Pretend to care about them." - Author Unknown. Angela shares her home with two rambunctious twin back cats,...