Page 54 of Captive Ruin

I pause, gripping the receiver so hard the plastic creaks. “What the hell do you want?”

“I just told you,” he says lightly. “But I know how… proud and stuck up you are. You’re probably shit in bed. Maybe your sister is the better fuck, after all.”

It takes all my effort not to scream at him, but I refuse to let this hateful man have that satisfaction. “If you have something to say that isn’t gloating, you have ten seconds.”

“I’ll let you run your exhibition again, next month. I’ll even encourage Quek and Amiento to return to you. And you, Amelia dear, will bring me Lucy. She’ll do everything to save your gallery, and you’ll do everything to save her.” He chuckles. “Sisterly love. Such a wonderful thing.”

I scowl at the picture on the wall, taking strength from it. “Serranto, you’re going to reverse this. You’re going to do it today, or I will fucking leak everything I have on you. Your gambling debts, your ex-wife, your abandoned child.”

“Toothless,” he responds, indifferent. “The spurious claims of a failed gallery owner. And you don’t have any of my hair, do you?”

No, I don’t. Because that fucker Van Wyk took it off me.

“Try me, you bastard.”

“You’ve already lost, Amelia dear. Your only option is to persuade your darling sister to come and be a sweet little thing, with you right there beside her.”

I swallow bile. “I want you to know that whatever the cost, I’ll never send Lucy to you. I’ll fucking kill you if you ever touch her again.”

“You’re far too nice for such a threat. It’s not very convincing.”

“You’d be surprised,” I grind out. “Every day that passes, I’m getting more comfortable with the idea.”

“Such brave words. Let’s see how they hold up when your business is on its knees… just like you’ll be. I’ll call you in a week. Mark my words: by then, you’ll be eager to reconsider.”

“Fuck y—”

But he’s already gone.

I sit there for a long time before I can move.

Fourteen

Amelia

My instinct is to call Lucy and warn her.

But if I do, she’ll want to run to Serranto anyway, offering herself to save me. That’s not happening.

Instead, I put on a brave face for Sierra, unable to tell her the news, the remainder of the afternoon crawling by. I can’t wait to leave and get home.

I need a good cry. Then I need a fucking plan.

But what the hell can I do?

I could run the exhibition with old stock, but it won’t be the artists we’ve promised. All those people coming, and I have nothing for them.

That would be worse than canceling.

The truth is simple: I’m fucked.

I take a cab home, even though I now can’t afford it. I just can’t face the subway, not after all this. Six months ago, I inherited two million dollars. Four months ago, I bought into my dream.

Now I’m on the verge of bankruptcy.

Damn Serranto, that evil, conniving, manipulative, vengeful bastard.

Damn me, for thinking I could keep a man at bay with threats against a conscience he doesn’t have.