Chapter 5 #2
Last night proved I still had it. My hands remembered what to do even when my brain was screaming. That woman would have died on that floor surrounded by people who only knew how to watch.
I saved her.
The thought should feel triumphant. Instead, it just makes me tired.
"Mommy, I'm hungry." Lily appears in the kitchen doorway, clutching Bunny. Her dark hair sticks up in three different directions despite my morning attempt to tame it.
"Two minutes, Lils. Can you set the table?"
She sighs like I've asked her to climb Everest, but she toddles over to the drawer where we keep the mismatched silverware. I watch her stretch on her tiptoes to grab two forks, tongue poking out in concentration.
I plate the pasta and carry them to our tiny table. Lily clambers into her booster seat, Mr. Peanuts taking his designated spot beside her plate.
"Mr. Bunny wants extra cheese."
"Mr. Bunny is lactose intolerant."
She giggles. "No, he's not."
"How do you know? Has he been tested?"
More giggles.
This is enough, I tell myself. She's happy. She's healthy. That's what matters.
"Mommy, you're not eating."
I blink. Lily's watching me with her big eyes, fork halfway to her mouth.
"Sorry, baby." I twirl pasta onto my fork.
We eat in silence for a moment. The pasta's mushy, the sauce too sweet, but Lily doesn't complain. She never does. That scares me more than it should.
The phone buzzes. I don't recognize the number.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
I swipe to answer. "Hello?"
"Miss Thomas." A male voice.
The hairs on my arms stand up.
"Who is this?"
"Nico Sartori."
My fork clatters against my plate. Lily looks up, startled.
"Mommy?"
"It's okay, baby. Eat your pasta." I push back from the table, walking toward the kitchen.
Nico?
The man from last night?
"How did you get this number?"
"My mother wants to thank you." He doesn't answer my question. Of course he doesn't. "For what you did last night."
I lean against the counter, pressing my free hand flat against the cool surface to ground myself. "She's welcome. Tell her I hope she's feeling better—"
"Tomorrow at seven," he cuts me off. "A car will pick you and your daughter up for dinner at our home."
I blink.
What?
"I'm sorry, I don't—that's not necessary. Really. I appreciate the gesture, but I can't. I'm working tomorrow night."
"No." His voice is flat. Final. "You're not. You were fired this morning."
My stomach drops through the floor.
How does he know that?
The question lodges in my throat. I've been in my apartment all day. Haven't told anyone. Haven't posted anything online of course.
"How do you—" I start.
"This is something my mother needs to do." He talks over me like I haven't spoken. "She won't let you avoid it."
Anger sparks in my chest. Hot and bright.
"It's not that simple," I snap, keeping my voice low so Lily doesn't hear. "I can't just say yes to dinner with strangers. I have a daughter. I don't know you. I don't know your family. I don't—"
"If someone from my family wanted to hurt you, this phone call would be a waste of time."
The words land like ice water.
I go still. Completely, utterly still.
Because he's right. And we both know it.
If these people wanted to hurt me there wouldn't be a reason to call me right?. They found my phone number. They know I got fired. They probably know my address, my social security number, my blood type.
How do rich people work?
Like this, apparently. They don't ask. They inform.
"Be ready at seven," he says.
"Wait—"
Click.
He hung up on me.
The bastard actually hung up on me.
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen. Call ended. Twelve seconds total.
Twelve seconds to completely upend my life.
"Mommy?" Lily's voice drifts from the dining area. "Your pasta's getting cold."
I press my palm against my forehead, trying to process what just happened.
A strange man called me. Told me he knows I lost my job. Informed me—not asked, informed—that a car would be picking up me and my daughter to have dinner at his family's house. And then hung up before I could refuse.
What the hell just happened?
I walk back to the table on autopilot. Lily's pushing her pasta around her plate, watching me .
"Who was that?"
"Nobody, baby."
I sit down. Pick up my fork. Put it down again.
My hands are shaking.
If someone from my family wanted to hurt you, this phone call would be a waste of time.
The words replay in my head. Over and over. A threat wrapped in reassurance. Or maybe reassurance wrapped in a threat. I can't tell which.
I should call the police. File a report. Tell them a strange man knows where I live and is sending a car for me tomorrow.
And say what? That a rich family wants to thank me for saving their mother's life? That they're sending transportation so I don't have to take the bus?
They'd laugh me off the phone.
I look at Lily. She's abandoned her pasta in favor of making Mr. Bunny dance across the table.
Tomorrow at seven.
I have roughly twenty-four hours to figure out what the hell I'm going to do.