Chapter 1
The hallway smelled like lemon polish and old wood, and I was sobbing into a phone against cream paneled walls that cost more than any place I'd ever lived. I was still in my uniform — black short sleeves, white collar, white apron — slumped with my back against the wall outside his office, my right hand shaking so hard the cracked skin over my knuckles burned. The mansion was quiet. That was the contradiction. Everything around me was orderly and warm and silent under soft night lighting, the brass hinge on his dark wood door catching the light, and I was falling apart in the middle of it trying not to be heard.
Inside the office, his desk lamp was still on. I could see the thin line of light under the door. He was at his peak in there, whatever made a man like him work after midnight, contained and controlled and stern. And I was out here with my knees pulled up, tears running into my mouth, trying to breathe through my nose so the person on the phone wouldn't hear me break.
My name is Sadia.
The call had come at 11:47. I knew because I'd checked the clock in the kitchen when my phone buzzed against the counter, dark case vibrating, unknown number. I'd stepped into the hallway so I wouldn't wake the rest of the house.
I answered and immediately covered my mouth with my hand. My knuckles were raw and red from the cleaning chemicals, the skin split. I pressed the phone hard to my right ear. The voice on the other end wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
"Please stay away from my brother," I said. My voice cracked on the last word. I didn't mean to beg, but it came out that way. Small and thin.
There was a pause. I could hear breathing on the other end, and somewhere behind him, traffic or music low. Then he said it flat, like he'd said it a dozen times that night to other girls like me.
"You have one hour, Sadia."
The way he said my name made my stomach drop. I slid further down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. My apron twisted under me. Tears blurred the hallway. I pressed my injured hand over my mouth to keep quiet, and the salt stung the cracks. I couldn't get air right. My chest kept hitching.
Behind me, the door opened.
I didn't hear the handle turn. I felt the shift in air first, the warm light from his office spilling wider into the hallway, and then his shadow falling over me. I didn't look up at first. I kept the phone pressed to my ear, my face wet, my eyes wide, my hand still clamped over my mouth. I was caught.
He stood in the doorway. Black satin shirt unbuttoned at the neck, black trousers, neck and arms covered in tattoos that caught the light. Short cropped dark hair. His expression was stern, restrained, like he was holding something back just by looking at me. He didn't speak right away. He just observed me there on the floor, crumpled in my uniform, crying into a phone at midnight outside his office.
Then his eyes went to my hand, to the phone, and his jaw tightened.
"Who is threatening you?" he asked. His voice was low. Steady. Not loud, but it cut through my sobbing.
I shook my head without meaning to. A lie started to form before I could stop it. It was nothing. Wrong number. I could handle it. Each one max one short sentence in my head, each one useless. He took a step closer, then crouched enough that I had to see him, his gaze intense and unwavering, and I knew he'd heard enough.
The phone was still live against my ear. The caller was still there, listening.
The man leaned in just enough that his voice carried, not to me, but into the phone itself. His eyes never left my face. His tone didn't rise. It went lower, colder, the restraint thinning to show what was underneath.
May you like
"Touch the boy and I'll bury your entire crew."
The hallway went completely silent except for my breathing. The brass hinge glinted. The phone burned hot against my ear. He was still looking at me, waiting for me to answer, waiting for me to tell him who Sadia was when someone wanted her brother that badly, and the line on the other end hadn't hung up yet.
