Chapter 2 - The Debt Was Never Hers
Charmian expected to be fired.
She had spent the entire day waiting for it.
Every time the office door opened, her stomach tightened.
Every time one of Vincent’s men walked down the hallway, she prepared herself for the words.
You’re done.
Take your things.
Don’t come back.
Instead, at 9:14 in the morning, Aleandro found her carrying linens down the back staircase.
“Mr. Costa wants to see you.”
Charmian nearly dropped the basket.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“If he explained himself, I wouldn't have to.”
She tightened her grip.
“I’m working.”
“He knows.”
That somehow frightened her more.
She followed Aleandro into the office.
Vincent was standing at the windows.
He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves folded neatly at the elbows.
He looked like he had never known what it meant to be tired.
Charmian knew better.
She had heard the stories.
The Costa boss didn't sleep much.
He trusted almost nobody.
He had inherited part of the organization and rebuilt the rest with ruthless efficiency.
Some said he was cruel.
Others said he was worse than cruel because he could be reasonable.
Charmian had never understood why reasonable sounded more frightening.
Vincent turned.
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
He looked at the chair.
Then at her.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
Charmian almost laughed.
That was an absurd thing for him to have to say.
She sat anyway.
Vincent moved around the desk.
He placed the folder in front of her.
“Tommy Flannery.”
Her heart dropped.
“You looked into my family?”
“I looked into an employee who appears to have a problem.”
“I can handle it.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Charmian looked up.
“I've handled it for nineteen years.”
“You've been beaten for four days.”
Her face flushed.
“I haven't.”
Vincent placed photographs on the desk.
Security images.
Three men outside St. Jude’s.
One of them grabbing her arm.
Another shoving her into a wall.
Another holding her by the hair.
Charmian closed her eyes.
“I told them I'd pay.”
“How?”
“I'll work.”
“You can't work off forty thousand dollars.”
“Then I'll work more.”
“You're nineteen.”
“Yes.”
“You're attending college.”
“Yes.”
“You were top of your class.”
“Yes.”
“You have a part-time job.”
“Yes.”
“And you're cleaning drug houses at two in the morning.”
Charmian looked down.
Vincent's voice lowered.
“Do you think that is a plan?”
She swallowed.
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
She hesitated.
“Survival.”
The word sat between them.
Something changed in Vincent's face.
He opened another folder.
Inside were copies of hospital bills.
School invoices.
Rent notices.
Bank statements.
Charmian stared.
“Where did you get these?”
“You left them in your kitchen trash.”
Her face went white.
“You searched my apartment?”
“No.”
Aleandro spoke from behind her.
“We did not enter your apartment.”
Vincent's voice remained calm.
“Your landlord keeps records.”
Charmian relaxed slightly.
Then he pushed one paper toward her.
A debt collection notice.
Her eyes burned.
“I know.”
“You don't.”
He pointed to a line.
“Your brother stopped paying this debt six weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“He didn't borrow forty thousand.”
Charmian froze.
“What?”
“He borrowed nine thousand.”
She stared.
Vincent turned the page.
“The rest is fabricated interest.”
Charmian's breathing changed.
“They said—”
“I know what they said.”
“They showed me the ledger.”
“A fake ledger.”
“Why?”
“Because they wanted you.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Your brother borrowed money. Then he stole from them.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He wouldn't.”
“He did.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Your brother isn't simply a gambler.”
Charmian said nothing.
“Tommy has been working as an informant.”
Her eyes widened.
“An informant for who?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Vincent stared.
“No what?”
“No more.”
“Explain.”
“My brother makes mistakes.”
“He endangered you.”
“He's still my brother.”
“He sold you to a criminal organization.”
Her eyes flashed.
“He didn't sell me.”
Vincent's voice sharpened.
“He signed your name.”
Charmian stopped.
“What?”
He slid a document across the table.
Her name appeared at the bottom.
Charmian Flannery.
Collateral guarantor.
She stared.
The signature looked like hers.
But it wasn't.
“I never signed this.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“Your brother did.”
The world tilted.
Charmian stared at the page.
The date was three weeks ago.
She had been at St. Jude’s that night.
She remembered because she'd studied until nearly midnight.
Tommy had borrowed her identification months earlier.
He said he needed it to apply for temporary work.
She had been stupid enough to believe him.
Vincent watched her realize it.
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
Charmian laughed bitterly.
“Because I need to eat.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“My brother had already been arrested twice.”
“For what?”
“Drugs.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Then why protect him?”
Charmian's voice broke.
“Because he's all I have left.”
Silence.
She looked down.
“My mother died when I was ten.”
Vincent said nothing.
“My father left before that.”
She swallowed.
“Tommy raised me.”
Vincent leaned back.
“He was nineteen.”
“He wasn't good at it.”
“No.”
“But he tried.”
Her eyes filled.
“He taught me how to cook. He walked me to school when men followed me home. He worked three jobs after Mom died.”
She wiped her face angrily.
“Then he got sick. Then he lost his job. Then he started gambling.”
“You owe him loyalty.”
“I owe him memory.”
Vincent studied her for a long time.
Then he asked,
“Why did you stop going to school?”
Charmian hesitated.
“Because they threatened my professor.”
“What?”
“They told me if I took my exam, they would hurt him.”
Vincent's expression went still.
“They knew my schedule. They knew where I lived. They knew everything.”
She folded her hands.
“So I stopped going.”
Vincent's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
“You didn't stop because you were failing.”
“No.”
“You stopped because they were threatening people around you.”
“Yes.”
“And the blood on your shirt?”
Charmian looked away.
“They made me clean a warehouse.”
“What happened there?”
“Someone was shot.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Why were you there?”
“They told me if I refused, Tommy would disappear forever.”
Vincent stood.
Charmian flinched.
He stopped immediately.
Then his expression softened by one degree.
“You are going back to school.”
Her head snapped up.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“Mr. Costa—”
“I'll deal with the Petrovs.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want your help.”
“You don't get to refuse protection when someone is trying to kill you.”
“I don't need to become one of your problems.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You became one the moment they brought your blood into my house.”
Charmian stared.
He continued.
“You're not paying your brother's debt.”
“I have to.”
“No.”
“And if they come for me?”
“They won't.”
“How can you promise that?”
Vincent's eyes became cold.
“Because by tonight, they'll learn the difference between threatening a nineteen-year-old girl…”
He paused.
“…and threatening someone under my roof.”
Charmian should have been terrified.
Instead, something inside her loosened.
Not trust.
Not yet.
Maybe simply relief.
She whispered,
“Why?”
May you like
Vincent looked at her.
“Because someone should have protected you before you needed to ask.”
