Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Rachel
"Oh my God, Rachel, what happened to you?"
Leona was humming in the kitchen, making dinner. The second she saw me walk in, her smile froze. She grabbed me and pushed me into a chair at the small dining table. "Look at you—those dark circles, and you've lost so much weight! Didn't you switch bosses? Why do you still look like this?"
"It's nothing. Just tired." I kept my head down, couldn't meet her eyes.
"Tired?" Leona stared at me, her brow furrowing tighter. "Didn't you say your boss was out of town? Rachel, you better tell me the truth."
I bit my lip. Said nothing.
She dragged her chair closer, her voice dropping low. "Look at me. Talk. Did someone bully you?"
"Leona..."
"The truth." She cut me off, her eyes sharp and cold. "You think I can't tell something's wrong when you look like hell?"
I finally broke. Tears spilled over as everything came pouring out. Leona's face darkened with every word. When I got to the part about Samantha, she slammed her soup spoon on the table so hard I jumped.
"Bastard!" She was livid, eyes blazing red. "Disgusting pig! I knew it—all these rich, powerful men are the same underneath! They don't give a damn about you! All that crap about loving you, taking care of you—he just thinks you're young and pretty, something to play with when he's bored!"
She gripped my hand so hard I thought my bones would crack.
"Rachel, wake up! What do you think you are to him?
His girlfriend? No—you're not even that!
You're just a toy he picks up when he's got nothing better to do!
And when that Ashford princess officially takes her place, you'll be used up and thrown out!
And when that happens, you won't even have anywhere to cry! "
"I gave up school, worked my fingers to the bone to put you through college—not so you could be some rich man's dirty little secret!"
"Quit! Quit right now! And cut him off completely!"
Every word hit like a sledgehammer. She was right. What the hell was I holding onto? The scraps of tenderness he threw me in bed? The occasional crumbs of care? I was already at my breaking point. Leona's words pushed me over the edge.
That night, I sat in my room until after midnight. Finally, I picked up my phone.
"Matteo, this is over. Please don't contact me again."
I hit send. Then I stared at the screen, waiting for his response.
One minute.
Five minutes.
Half an hour.
Nothing.
See, Rachel? He's fine with it. He can't even be bothered to ask "why."
I took a deep breath, opened his contact page, and hit "block."
Monday morning, I got to the office early and dropped my resignation letter at HR. The manager looked at me like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just took the letter without a word.
Under "reason for leaving," I'd written: Family emergency. Need to go home to provide care. Not exactly a lie.
I cleaned out my desk, texted Matteo's housekeeper to start feeding the cat from tonight on, then grabbed my box of belongings and left Vitale Tower without looking back. The sun was shining. I felt nothing but cold.
I went back to Brooklyn with Leona and helped out at our parents' place, Sea Breeze Diner. The first few days, I was numb. Chopping vegetables, running the register, serving burgers and fries, wiping down greasy tables. Leona kept trying to make me rest, do less. But I didn't dare stop.
Four days passed like that. On the fourth day, near closing time, there were hardly any customers left. Leona was counting the register up front. I was cleaning the oven in the back. Suddenly, a loud crash came from the dining room—sounded like breaking glass—followed by Leona's scream.
"Leona!"
My heart seized. I grabbed a rolling pin and ran out front. What I saw made me freeze.
Six or seven big guys in hoodies—faces hidden—were tearing the place apart. Tables, chairs, windows—glass everywhere. Leona had been shoved to the floor by the register. Her forehead hit the counter edge. Blood gushed out.
"What are you doing? Stop it!" Fear didn't matter. I threw myself over Leona to shield her.
The thugs didn't stop. They laughed louder.
One of them—tall, built, arms covered in vicious tattoos—strode over, grabbed me by the hair, yanked me off the floor, and slammed me against the wall.
"Agh..." I coughed, felt like my spine would snap.
The tattooed man leaned in close. Reeking cigarette breath hit my face.
"Listen up, sweetheart. Since you were smart enough to tuck your tail and run, today's just a little warning."
"But if you're stupid enough to get close to people you shouldn't be near again..." He patted my cheek, hard. "Next time won't be just a few broken windows. Got it?"
Samantha! I was one hundred percent certain she was behind this.
But looking at Leona groaning in pain, at our trashed diner—the place we needed to survive—all my anger, all my protests got stuck in my throat like a boulder.
"I... I understand."
The man grunted and let me go. On his way out, he smashed the biggest window in the front door.
I looked at the gash on Leona's forehead and couldn't hold back the tears.
Thank God Leona's wound looked worse than it was—just surface damage, nothing broken. She could rest at home.
The next morning, I hung up a "Temporarily Closed" sign and started repairs alone. I didn't reopen until the place looked halfway decent. During those days, I was so exhausted I crashed the second my head hit the pillow. No energy left to think about Matteo.
Near closing time, a table of drunks stumbled in. Four guys, jackets reeking of night air and booze. They plopped down and started yelling orders, filling the quiet diner with noise that made my head throb.
"Enjoy, gentlemen. Just holler if you need anything." I set down the tray, refilled their ice, and straightened the napkin dispenser. One guy grabbed fries, dunked them in ketchup, and red sauce dripped onto the floor.
"Hey, you're pretty good at serving."
Red Neck leaned back in his chair, eyes crawling over me. The guy next to him laughed, kicked his leg toward me—shoe grazing my calf. I stepped back.
"Call me if you need something." I gathered the empty glasses onto the tray and headed for the kitchen without lingering.
They got louder. Beer bottles clanged on the table. I cleaned the stove and balanced the register. The clock showed almost one a.m.
I wiped my hands and walked out. They were stumbling to their feet, grabbing jackets, heading for the door. I hurried to block them.
"Wait a minute." I stepped in front of the door. "Here's your bill."
Red Neck lifted his eyelids, toothpick in his mouth. "What bill? Just burgers and fries. Put it on our tab. We'll pay next time."
"We don't do tabs." I looked him dead in the eye. "Eighty-seven dollars. Pay first, then leave."
The skinny tall one laughed, leaned his hand on the doorframe, getting in my space. "Feisty. What, you desperate for cash? How about you have a drink with us? Put us in a good mood, maybe we'll pay."
"Yeah." Another one chimed in, eyes glued to my face. "Looking like that, wasting yourself in this dump. Come play with us—worth way more than a dinner bill."
My stomach turned. I gripped the doorknob. Didn't back down. "Watch your mouth."
Red Neck clicked his tongue and straightened up. "Girl, you're a hooker. I can tell. Drop the act."
"I'll say this once more." I pulled out my phone and lit the screen. "Pay now, or I'll call the cops."
Their drunken smirks faded. Red Neck stared at me, jaw working like he was swallowing anger.
"Try it, bitch."
"You can try it too." I raised the phone higher. "There are cameras. Everything you ate, when you came in, when you tried to skip the bill—all recorded. None of you are getting away."
Skinny stared at me for two seconds, then cursed and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills, slapped them on the counter hard enough to rattle the coin box. The others dug through their pockets, tossing money out.
"Bad luck."
Red Neck grabbed his jacket, eyes sliding over me with menace. "Stupid bitch. Can't recognize a good deal."
I held my phone and didn't move. Just opened the door and watched them file out. When the last one disappeared around the corner, I closed the door, pressed the lock tight, and leaned against the glass for two seconds. My palms were soaked. The phone was hot from my grip.
When it was over, I checked the lock twice, tested the rolling shutter.
I dragged my aching legs home alone. The streetlights were dim, their old casings buzzing faintly with electrical current, stretching my shadow long and crooked against the wall. Night wind funneled through the alley. I hugged myself, but my neck still tensed up, inch by inch.
Before long, I heard footsteps behind me. Soft at first, keeping pace. My heart jumped. I walked faster. The footsteps quickened too, maintaining that not-too-close, not-too-far distance.
I didn't dare turn around. Using a shop window as a mirror, I caught a glimpse of a tall figure darting through a spot the streetlights didn't reach.
My palms went clammy, throat tight. The drunks from the diner flashed through my mind.
I shoved my hand in my pocket, gripped my house keys, worked the longest one between my knuckles so the tip stuck out.
"Faster, Rachel, go faster..." I chanted in my head, breathing hard and ragged. My calves cramped from tension.
Then a hand clamped over my mouth.
"Let go! Hel—" I fought, kicked wildly. The person tightened their grip and dragged me toward a dark corner.