Chapter One
SHAY
Present Day
“Tony invited me to his beach house next weekend,” Amanda Moore says.
“I’m sure it’ll be a good time,” I reply.
Tony is her latest obsession. A tall, dark, and handsome law major with sparkling blue eyes and slick black hair.
“It’s going to be a great time. We’re gonna ride on jet skis, and—“
“Shay, honey, it’s time for dinner,” Mom’s voice interrupts my call.
Oh, thank God. Mom’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. Amanda has a way of jumping from one person to the next, and I’m always left listening to stories about how this one is a keeper. I do love her to bits, but she’s too easily swayed by a handsome face and a few compliments.
“I’ve gotta go. My mom just called me for dinner,” I interrupt the story Amanda was about to start.
“Oh,” she says. “Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk about it some more then.”
“Of course.”
I hang up, launch myself off the bed, and rush downstairs. Mom made lasagna. The smell wafts up through the air as I descend the stairs. My tummy’s rumbling and I’m starving.
An awkward quiet fills the room, after I step through the dining-room door.
Dad’s sitting at the head of the table, scanning today’s newspaper.
Mom’s on his right, spooning lasagna onto our plates.
There’s usually music playing at this time of night.
Dad insists on it whenever conversation dies during dinner. The unwelcome silence makes me uneasy.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, taking a seat on his left.
He doesn’t respond to me immediately. Sweat trickles from his messy hairline. His narrow eyes are scanning the paper, but the longer I look at his face, the more it seems he’s staring straight through the pages instead of reading them.
“Anything interesting happening in the world today?” I try to grab his attention.
“Huh? What’s that?” Dad’s head snaps my way. He pats the sweat from his brow with the back of his button-down sleeve. “Sorry, Shay, I’m all over the place right now.”
“Tough day at the office?”
“No,” he returns to the paper. “Yes. It’s hard to say.”
Mom raises a quizzical brow as she breaks a chunk of toasted garlic bread and sets it on Dad’s plate.
“Are you feeling unwell?” she asks.
Dad shakes his head. “It’s just one of those days.”
“Well, put the paper down, it’s time to eat,” Mom orders, but in a sing-song voice that makes me giggle.
“Do you want me to turn some music on?” I take a step towards the record player.
“No, not tonight,” Dad shrugs. “I need to tell you both something.”
The way Dad’s acting is starting to make me feel nervous. Our whole interaction is coming off as though he’s about to tell the family he’s come down with some kind of terminal illness and he doesn’t know how to breach the topic.
“Is it serious?”
“Yes, but let’s eat first. It’s not a conversation for an empty stomach.”
We tuck in. The food’s good, but the bitter taste in my mouth isn’t helping. Dad has news. Serious news that can’t be discussed over dinner. I’ve never seen him this panicked, and it’s scaring me.
The clinking of knives and forks against our porcelain plates is my only sound. Dad barely touches his food, though, and pushes food around his plate, putting small bites into his mouth. Mom isn’t much different. She barely touches her food, too busy worrying about Dad to eat.
A knock sounds at the door. Dad gets out of his seat before the last bang of it.
“Are you expecting someone?” Mom asks as Dad walks out.
“We both are,” he says.
And with those simple words, Mom’s face sinks and tears stream down her face. What the hell?
I can’t see into the entrance hall, but I hear the front door swing open.
“Mom, what’s going on?” I ask. She’s too beside herself to respond. She’s clutching her knife and fork so hard her knuckles have turned white.
A husky voice speaks before Dad can greet him. “Henry Caden, it’s good to see you again.”
“Mr. Lombardi, please, come in.”
“Mom, please,” I plead. She turns her head away from me, weeping silently.
Dad returns to the dining room, escorted by Mr. Lombardi and three other men.
Lombardi is shorter than Dad, with a pot belly and a thinning hairline.
His chubby face is hardened by a stone-cold look in his dark brown eyes.
He and his entourage are dressed in trench coats, and the others are wearing white-brimmed fedoras.
What the fuck is going on?
“This is her?” Mr. Lombardi asks.
“This is her,” Dad says.
“She’s prettier than I imagined.” Mr. Lombardi crosses the room to where I’m sitting. Without warning or permission, he extends a hand and touches my cheek.
A sudden, overwhelming fear grips my chest and I slap his hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
He laughs. “She’s got a fighter’s spirit. I like that.”
Two of Mr. Lombardi’s goons take a seat at the table, while the other hovers precariously close to Dad.
“It seems you’ve honored your end of the bargain, Henry. I can’t fault you on that,” Lombardi says.
“What bargain?” I demand. Something inside is telling me to be scared; to remain silent, but I can’t. I have to find out what’s going on here. Why have strangers entered my home and why are they parading around as if they owned the place?
“They didn’t tell you?” Mr. Lombardi’s gaze drifts from me to Dad and then Mom.
“Jessica, a pleasure as always,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Mom whimpers, but doesn’t speak.
“Mr. Lombardi, don’t do this,” Dad says. He takes a single step towards Mr. Lombardi, but the goon behind Dad grabs the back of his shirt and stops him in his tracks.
“We can repay our loan.”
“I don’t want your money, Henry. In fact, I don’t need it. A deal’s a deal and I’m taking her,” Mr. Lombardi says.
Taking her? Does he mean me? My heart sinks.
“From what I can recall, Henry Cayden, you didn’t want a child to begin with.
You happily agreed to part with your daughter in return for incredible wealth.
Our deal was simple; we gave you that wealth and you handed her over when I decided it was time.
You can fight me if you want, but believe me when I say, a debt to a loan shark isn’t nearly as threatening as a debt to me,” Mr. Lombardi’s voice is hard and cold.
“It was twenty years ago,” Dad spits.
“Nineteen to the day,” Mr. Lombardi corrects. “In that time, you’ve lived a renegade maverick lifestyle, spending your copious wealth on a nice home and a nice car, and forgetting your owed debts.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s my property.”
“I won’t let you do this,” Dad says. Once again, he attempts to step forward, but he doesn’t make it far. The man behind him grabs his shoulder and smashes the handle of a pistol against the bridge of his nose. Blood instantly streams from the wound, and Dad collapses to the floor.
“Stand up, Shay,” Mr. Lombardi says.
I refuse, anchoring myself firmly in my chair.
“Look, girl, I’m not fucking around. Get off your ass,” Mr. Lombardi’s temper is rising. I rise, if only to avoid a similar fate to my dad’s.
Terror coils low in my stomach and my first instinct is to run. If I can make it to my car, I can get out of here. I’ll hide away at Amanda’s place until I can figure out where to go next. But then, what about my parents? What will happen to them, with four armed men in our home?
“Take off your shirt,” he says.
“What? No,” I shake my head, recoiling away from Mr. Lombardi.
One of his henchmen gets up from his seat and blocks me from getting too far away.
“Before I fully commit, I need to inspect my new property,” Lombardi says. “Take off your shirt, or my associate here will take it off for you.”
The man behind me seems more than eager to follow his boss’s orders.
“Can’t you do this somewhere else?” Mom finally gets into the conversation. “Is it not bad enough you’re taking our daughter away, that you have to shame us with this?”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Mr. Lombardi points a finger at her, but he doesn’t turn his head from me. “You’ve made your bed, and now it’s time to lie in it. You chose your path years ago. A daughter for wealth. There are no take-backsies.”
Lombardi runs a hand through his hair. Dad begs him, from his knees, to release the debt owed, but it falls on deaf ears.
“Take off your clothes, Shay. If I have to ask again…” he slides his hand into his breast pocket and pulls out a revolver. He points it at Dad’s head. “…I’m going to take his fucking head off. Your mom’ll be next. One way, or another, you’re going to do as you’re told.”
Bile burns the back of my throat. I can’t let this man kill my parents, even if they are the reason we’re in this position.
With tears welling in my eyes, I start shedding my layers.
First, the loose-fitting grey top, with a teddy bear cuddling a heart.
Then, my shoes and tracksuit pants, until I’m standing in nothing but a pair of white cotton panties.
My arms instinctively rise to cover my bare body, but I fight them back. Lombardi’s threats are plain and he’s made it clear that there will be severe consequences if I don’t follow his orders.
Both my parents turn away, unable to face me.
Mr. Lombardi scans my body from head to toe. His eyes linger on my chest and between my legs, while his tongue drags slowly across his thin lips.
“Christ, look at the tits on this one,” Lombardi nods, satisfied with his inspection and turns back to my dad.
“Well, Henry, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He brings a finger to his forehead in a half-assed salute.
He looks at me again. “Put your clothes back on. It’s time we were leaving.”
I grab my clothes and pull them back on without a second thought.
“You can’t let him take me. Mom? Dad? What are yo—“ I choke the tears in the back of my throat, unable to finish the sentence.
“Shay, sweetie, it’s going to be alright. You’re gonna have to go with him.” Dad doesn’t raise his eyes to mine, focusing instead on the pattern of the carpet beneath his knees.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
My question goes unanswered. With Lombardi in front, two of his men at my side, and the final behind, I’m led out of my home. The first raindrop falls as we get to his car. Mom and Dad follow us out, but don’t walk any further than the front door.
Mom cries while Dad holds her in his arms.