Chapter 4
VALENTINA
I’d seen the late notice on my door last month, but what could I do? Frame it? Add it to my growing collection of missed bills?
Rent was Cillian’s thing. He paid it, he never complained about it, and he definitely never left it to me. I knew there was no way I could keep up with the amount he used to shell out. I wasn’t living lavishly, but my version of “making it work” wasn’t anywhere near Cillian’s budget.
So the notice stayed on the door, mocking me every time I came home, and I stayed exactly where I was, doing nothing about it.
Until this morning.
I was mid-shampoo when the lights cut out, leaving me standing in the pitch-black bathroom with suds in my eyes and no hot water.
It was freezing water, actually. It was one of those moments that felt so absurd I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.
Maybe I’d do both and let the hysteria finally get me.
My life was a one-woman sitcom these days, except the jokes weren’t funny and the laugh track was just the sound of my bank account gasping for air.
I fumbled for the faucet and shut the water off, trying not to trip or slip on my way to the living room.
The first thing I did was flip the light switch.
A part of me thought I could logic my way out of losing electricity, like maybe if I flipped the switch hard enough the universe would go, “Oh, sorry, our bad,” and everything would come back on.
It didn’t.
I pulled a towel around me like a cape and flopped onto the couch, leaving wet spots all over the cushions, because, really, what did it matter at this point?
My phone was sitting on the coffee table, glowing with the reminder I’d forgotten to charge it overnight: 11% battery.
Still, I picked it up and scrolled through the notifications.
Apparently, I hadn’t learned my lesson about making myself feel worse.
Isabel had texted three times asking about Mom.
José had called, probably about the tab I’d promised to pay off.
And the electric company? Oh, they’d emailed me twice—once to remind me my power would be shut off, and a second time to tell me they’d done it.
Thank you, Susan from Customer Service. Thank you for being so on top of things.
I stared at the phone, weighing the pros and cons of calling Isabel. She’d help me, I knew it. But that was the problem. She’d help, and she’d also remind me about it at every chance she got. I didn’t need her thinking I couldn’t keep it together on my own even if that was the truth.
I pulled the towel tighter around me and leaned back against the couch. Somewhere deep in my gut, I knew I couldn’t keep skating by like this. The lights weren’t coming back on, and the rent wasn’t going to magically pay itself.
I knew what I had to do.
The realization hit me somewhere between the shampoo still crusting in my hair and the growing chill sweeping through the apartment. It wasn’t like the answer had been hiding. It had always been there—I just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Max.
God, even his name made my stomach turn. Max, the keeper of my so-called fortune. Max, the puppet master who thought he could dangle my future in front of me like a carrot as long as I jumped through his hoops. Max, who wouldn’t marry me off until I was “clean” enough to be a perfect little bride.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. Thirty days, he’d said.
Thirty days sober, a chip from AA, and then he’d hand over the money from his own pocket.
It was a lot of money too—enough to pay off everything, including Mama’s medical bills, and allow me to finally breathe again.
Enough that I could stop looking over my shoulder every time I walked past the landlord’s door.
But thirty days? Thirty days had felt like thirty years.
And it wasn’t even about the wanting to stop drinking.
I could handle that part—at least on the surface.
It was the other stuff. The sweating, the shaking, the pounding in my skull that made it feel like my brain was trying to punch its way out.
The nights when I couldn’t sleep because my body was so pissed off at me for cutting it off cold turkey.
Max didn’t care about any of that, of course.
To him, it was simple: no chip, no money.
I lasted twenty days one time. Twenty miserable, endless days before I caved and used the hundred that stranger gave me to pop open a bottle of wine. And when Max found out—because Max always found out—he smirked that smug, condescending smirk of his and said, “Better luck next time.”
Next time. Like it was just that easy.
But now? Now I was out of options. The lights were off, the heat was gone, and I was sitting in the middle of my “too-nice apartment,” shivering under a towel, pretending I wasn’t one bad day away from getting kicked out of the only home I had left. I couldn’t wait for “next time.”
Once I’d made it off the couch, I got ready with whatever I could find, dressing in a skirt and a soft sweater. It was so dark in the apartment I wasn’t sure if I was even wearing matching colors or not.
When I was at the door pulling my coat on, my phone buzzed. It had 8% battery now, and for a second, I considered ignoring it. I answered it instead.
“Hello?”
“This is St. Vincent’s billing department,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “We’re calling regarding your mother’s treatment plan.”
My stomach dropped.
“We didn’t receive payment for this month,” the woman continued. “If the balance isn’t settled within the next ten days, her treatments will be discontinued.”
I swallowed hard. “Discontinued?” I repeated, as if saying it aloud would make it less horrifying.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “We understand things can be difficult, but we require timely payment to ensure ongoing care.”
Timely payment. Sure, let me just reach into the vault I don’t have and pull out a couple grand.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said, my voice scratching with a familiar panic. “You’ll have it by the end of the week.”
She paused like she didn’t believe me. “Thank you, Ms. De La Vega. We’ll follow up in a few days.”
The line went dead, and I stood there for a moment, my breath fogging in the cold air. I needed the money, and I needed it now.
I hated taking the subway alone. Weird things happened on the subway—the kind of things you couldn’t explain without people looking at you as if you were the weird one. But what choice did I have? Cillian’s driver wasn’t here anymore, the bills were piling up, and my phone was at 3% battery.
Luxury clearly wasn’t on the menu today.
My hair was still half-wet, with shampoo residue hardening at the top of my head. This was a low, even for me. But what choice did I have? Freezing-cold water? No. No, thank you.
Once the train came to a stop, I got off and walked six blocks in my black Milanos. By the time the first blister had started to form, I was at Max’s building.
The woman behind the front desk gave me a warm smile and asked who I was here for.
“Max,” I told her.
She had me follow her down a hall to a room full of glass walls until I saw the office Max was in. He glanced up from his desk when I entered.
“This is a surprise.”
I stopped a few feet away, crossing my arms. “I need money.”
He raised a brow. “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”
“And I’m having it again,” I shot back. “I’m out of time. I need it now.”
He sighed. “You know the deal. Thirty days, a chip, and it’s yours.”
I groaned, throwing my head back dramatically. “I still have shampoo in my hair, Max. Literal shampoo. The power went out, and I haven’t even had a chance to rinse it out.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Yours,” I said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re the one holding my inheritance hostage.”
“Months ago I made you an offer. You could’ve had everything by now if you’d just stuck to the agreement,” he said, sounding annoyed he had to explain it to me again. “How have you been getting by? Have the Americans not been helping you?”
I glared at him, the mention of the Americans making my stomach twist. “Don’t start with me.”
“Why not?” he asked, stepping around the desk. “You’re not exactly subtle, Valentina. Do you really think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?”
“I haven’t talked to them in months.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t, if things got bad enough.”
I wanted to roll my eyes—badly. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve already proven you’ll do whatever it takes to survive. I respect that, believe it or not. But it makes you dangerous. Unpredictable.”
“You think I’d sell you out? After helping you and your wife?”
“I think you’ll do whatever you think is necessary. Which is why I need you on my side, Valentina. Not theirs.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” I snapped. “I’m just trying to get by.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” he asked, gesturing to my damp hair and the worn edge of my coat. “Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’re doing so well.”
The words stung, mostly because they were true.
My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to hold his stare. “I don’t need you to keep me in check, Max.”
He laughed. “Of course you don’t. You’re perfectly capable of doing that on your own. That’s why the power’s out, your mother’s treatments are on the line, and you’re standing in front of me asking for help. Again.”
“Is this the part where you remind me how much I’ve screwed up?” I asked bitterly. “Or are we skipping to the solution?”
Max leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms. “I’ll cover your rent and the hospital bills for this month,” he said as if he were doing me a favor. “But the deal hasn’t changed. Thirty days, a chip, and then you get more.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice quieter now. I hated how small it sounded, how cornered I felt.
His lips twitched as if the question amused him. “Then you’re out of choices, Valentina. And you know I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. Keep this up. I’ll make sure someone is there to keep you in line.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “You’re going to play babysitter?”
“It means I’ll have someone make sure you’re going to the meetings, staying on track, and not doing anything reckless.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Like talking to the Americans? God forbid I have a conversation.”
“You said it, not me.” He crossed his arms. “Meetings are at seven on Sundays. If you need a driver, I can arrange one.”
The idea of one of Max’s men chauffeuring me to AA meetings made my chest burn. “I’ll take the subway,” I said, shifting my weight.
“Suit yourself.”
I glanced toward the door, the tension in my shoulders threatening to pull me apart. The meeting was six days away. Which meant I still had time. Time to screw up. Time to get it out of my system. One last hurrah, you could say.
“Speaking of which,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “I could use some cash for the ride back. Unless you want me to hitchhike in heels.”
Max reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, holding it out between two fingers like he was daring me to take it.
I snatched it from him, the corner curling slightly under my grip. “Thanks,” I muttered, tucking the bill into my coat.
“Subway fare,” he said pointedly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not booze.”
“Obviously,” I shot back, rolling my eyes for effect. But even as I said it, the lie tasted bitter my tongue.
I already knew exactly where the rest of that twenty was going. A subway ride didn’t cost twenty bucks. Not even close.
There was a corner store near the station that sold cheap wine—the kind that burned going down but hit fast enough to make it worth it. Max didn’t need to know that. He probably already suspected it, but as long as I didn’t confirm it, we could both pretend I had an ounce of self-control.
But he wasn’t done with me yet. He never was.
“People are asking about you. It’s drawing attention. Negative attention.”
I smiled. “That’s okay. Let them miss me.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with everyone at the Christmas party,” he said as if there were no wiggle room. “It’s good for you to stay visible. Reminds people you’re still part of the family, whether you like it or not.”
“What?” I panicked. “No. No, I’m not going to that.”
“Yeah, you are.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to say anything, but he didn’t give me the chance.
“You’ve been on thin ice for months, Valentina. Let’s not see what happens when it cracks, yeah?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Six days. That was how long I had before I had to start pretending I was someone who could keep it together. Six days to forget how much I hated those meetings, hated myself for needing them, hated the empty promises I kept making to people like Max.
Six days, one twenty-dollar bill, and just enough defiance left in me to make the most of both.