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ONE
Jess
I shove the door open, stopping dead at the sight that greets me.
Clothes spread across the floor, drawers pulled out, cupboards hanging open. Has it finally happened? Have dad’s debts finally caught up with him? It sure looks like it.
A shuffle of movement catches my eye. I turn to find my neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, peering in at me.
“Never did get the damp sorted, did he?” she says, her nose wrinkling. “I told him when he moved in here that he needed to get it fixed, what with your mom having a baby on the way and all.
“What are you now, twenty-one? And the place still stinks. I said to Reggie, God bless his soul, those new neighbors of ours are moving in, and the pipes are shot, and she’s seven months gone and-”
“Do you know where my dad is?” I interrupt. “Did he talk to you at all?”
She shakes her head. “Ran out of here with a suitcase in one hand and a wad of cash in the other. He asked if he could borrow some money and I said I could maybe lend him ten.
“He laughed at me and said he needed fifty thousand or some mafia boss was going to have him killed. He begged me to help. I said I didn’t have that kind of money and he just got in his car and raced off.”
She sighs. “And those tires of his need looking at. Bald as my Reggie, God bless his soul.”
I set the photo back on the bookcase by the window. “Gone,” I say to myself before looking up. “So many times he threatened to run out on me. I never thought he’d actually do it.”
She reaches past me, picking up the photo. “She was a good lady, your mother. Too good for a man like him.”
She sets the photo back down. “You’ll be better off with him gone, trust me. I hear him yelling at you through the walls. Thin as paper they are. You’re like your Mom. You put up with too much bullshit from that asshole, excuse my French.”
I manage a weak smile. “You remember much about my mom?”
“She had beautiful eyes, like yours. Never said a word in anger, that woman. Working on those books of hers day and night to the end. When she wasn’t traveling on those research trips. Worked so hard, unlike your father. She’s with the angels now though, her and my Reggie.”
She looks out through the window. “Rain’s coming. I better go get the sheets in. Only just put them out.” She squeezes my shoulder lightly. “You let me know if you need anything, won’t you?”
I give her a nod and watch her leave, my eyes moving slowly back to the photo of my mother. She passed when I was a year old, leaving me in the care of a father who was always more interested in drink than parenting.
I move through to the kitchen, looking for any clue as to where my father has gone. His name is on the mortgage. If he’s gone for good, I haven’t just lost my job and the last of my family today. I’ll be homeless too.
The table is buried under a mishmash of unpaid bills, crumpled fast-food wrappers, and torn up betting slips. A note is pinned to one of the cupboards with a rusty steak knife. The handwriting is jagged and menacing.
Today, or we burn it down with you and your kid inside.
I’ve barely finished absorbing the grim message when the back door bursts open. My heart catapults into my throat as three men walk in, one after another.
The first man, a towering figure, cracks his knuckles menacingly. Beside him, a leaner figure with a cold, calculating expression, surveys me with a gaze that feels like ice. The third lazily twirls a bat in one hand, a smirk playing on his lips.
The leader, eyes as hard as flint, locks his gaze onto mine. “Your father owes the Garibaldi family fifty thousand dollars,” he growls, his voice a rough scrape against the silence of the room. “Where is he?”
Panic grips me, my heart thundering in my chest as I shake my head, words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “He’s gone. I don’t have any money. Please, you have to believe me.”
His laughter mocks me, filling the cramped space and twisting the knife of fear even deeper. “Sure was low of your old man, leaving a pretty thing like you behind to face the music.”
He leans closer, the stench of tobacco wafting off him. “Let me paint you a picture, sweetheart, since you seem to be in the dark. Your dear daddy was more than just a drunk. He was a gambler too. Took a loan from my boss.” He laughs. “Payment’s due and we’re not leaving here without it.”
The room spins as his words sink in. My father borrowed money from the mob?
He chuckles at my disbelief, the sound devoid of any warmth. “See, we’re not unreasonable,” he continues, his voice venomous. “We simply want what’s ours. Fifty grand. And seeing as your father is nowhere to be found, you’re going to help us recover that loss, one way or another.”
The man with the bat steps forward, his smirk widening. “With looks like yours, you could easily earn that kind of money. Ever been touched, sweetheart? You hiding a pretty virgin pussy under there? Want to show us?”
