Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Gives Her A Place To Stay
The apartment Ramona arranged for Sharise was not what she expected.
She had imagined something dark.
A hidden basement.
A bare room with one window and a mattress.
Instead, the elevator opened directly into a modern penthouse overlooking the city.
Warm lights.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
A kitchen with marble counters.
A bedroom larger than her entire apartment.
A second bedroom.
A stocked refrigerator.
Fresh clothes.
Even a small vase of white flowers sat beside the bed.
Sharise stood in the doorway.
"I can't afford this."
"You aren't paying."
"That's worse."
Ramona stood behind her.
"For you, perhaps."
She turned.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're involved."
"I never agreed to be involved."
"Neither did I."
She folded her arms.
"I could leave."
"Yes."
He looked at her.
"But where would you go?"
She had no answer.
"Exactly."
Ramona handed her a new phone.
"Use this."
She stared at it.
"Does this one belong to you too?"
"No."
"Do you know everything I do?"
"Not everything."
"That's comforting."
His expression almost changed again.
"You need sleep."
He began walking away.
"Ramona."
He stopped.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
Then he left.
Sharise locked the door behind him.
For the first time in months, she slept without hearing the radiator.
She slept for ten hours.
When she woke, breakfast waited.
Ramona was sitting at the counter.
She nearly dropped the coffee cup.
"What are you doing here?"
"My apartment."
"I thought this was mine."
"It's yours."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I own the floor beneath it."
She stared.
"That's absurd."
"Welcome to my life."
She sat across from him.
There was a plate of eggs and toast.
She began eating.
Ramona watched.
"What?"
"You actually eat breakfast."
"Should I not?"
"Most people around me skip meals."
"That's unhealthy."
"I know."
She pointed at him.
"You."
He looked at her.
"What?"
"You're one of those people."
He glanced at the coffee.
"I eat."
"Coffee isn't food."
He almost smiled.
"You're bossy."
"You're ridiculous."
A strange silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Just unfamiliar.
Sharise realized she was smiling.
Then her phone vibrated.
A text.
Unknown number.
Tell him the girl remembers.
Her smile vanished.
Ramona saw it.
"What?"
She handed him the phone.
He read it.
His entire expression changed.
"What does it mean?"
He asked quietly.
"I don't know."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
He stood immediately.
"Stay here."
"What?"
He walked toward the door.
"Lock everything."
She grabbed his sleeve.
"Ramona."
He turned.
She saw it in his eyes.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
"What aren't you telling me?"
He hesitated.
Then:
"My brother died eleven years ago."
Sharise froze.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"He was investigating a group of men who were laundering money through the port."
"And?"
"He had one witness."
"A witness?"
"A child."
Ramona looked at the message again.
"That witness disappeared."
Sharise's throat tightened.
"I don't remember any of this."
"I know."
"Then why do you think it's me?"
"Because the witness had the same birthmark you have."
Her hand went instinctively to the side of her neck.
Ramona noticed.
"Who told you that?"
"My brother's journal."
Sharise sat back.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I."
He stepped closer.
"But someone does."
The next few days became a blur.
Sharise stayed inside.
Ramona investigated her past.
Old school records.
Hospital records.
Foster care documents.
Everything looked normal.
Until one file didn't.
Her birth certificate had been amended when she was seven.
Her father's name changed.
Her mother's name was missing.
There was a handwritten notation.
Transferred under protective custody.
Sharise stared at it.
"My parents died when I was eight."
Ramona looked up.
"Who told you that?"
"The social worker."
"There is no death certificate."
Sharise's face went pale.
"What?"
"No record."
"Then where did they go?"
Ramona shook his head.
"I don't know."
She looked at him.
"You have to find out."
"I will."
She stepped closer.
"Why?"
He answered honestly.
"Because I need to know who you are."
The words hurt.
"Not because you care?"
He looked at her.
"I am trying not to."
She swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because caring about people gets them killed."
The sentence remained between them.
That night Sharise woke from a nightmare.
A hallway.
A red door.
A man's voice.
Run.
She sat up gasping.
Someone knocked.
Ramona entered.
"Sharise?"
She was shaking.
"I remembered something."
"What?"
"A red door."
He sat beside her.
"What else?"
"A man."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Did you see his face?"
"No."
She closed her eyes.
"He said one thing."
"What?"
"Tell the Cassells the truth."
Ramona went still.
"What truth?"
"I don't know."
He stared at her.
Then whispered:
"My brother said the same thing in his final note."
Sharise opened her eyes.
"Maybe that's why he chose you."
"Who?"
"Maybe your brother."
Ramona looked away.
He didn't believe in ghosts.
May you like
But for the first time in years, he wondered if his brother had somehow left a path behind.
A path that ended with Sharise.
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