Chapter 3
I got the job.
Victor informed me as if hiring me was a tactical decision.
“You’ll stay the week,” he said. “If they don’t set the house on fire, we’ll discuss permanent terms.”
I looked at Nico, who was trying to see if orange slices could stick to the wall.
“I’d put fire on the watchlist.”
Marco smirked despite himself.
The housekeeper, Rosa, showed me to a staff room larger than my entire studio.
A bed with clean sheets.
A private bathroom.
A window overlooking the gardens.
I stood in the doorway and thought of Lucia sleeping beside a radiator that clanked like a dying machine.
Rosa watched me.
“You have a child?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll want her here.”
I turned.
“That’s not possible.”
“In this house, possible is usually a matter of who is saying no.”
“Her father is saying no.”
Rosa’s face hardened.
“Ah.”
That one sound carried a woman’s whole history with cruel men.
I sat on the bed.
“My hearing is in two weeks. If I don’t show stable housing and income, he’ll ask for primary custody.”
“Is he a good father?”
“No.”
“Then we make you stable.”
“We?”
Rosa crossed her arms.
“You fed the boys. That makes you family-adjacent.”
I almost laughed.
Then I almost cried.
The next morning, I woke before dawn and took the bus back to my studio for clean clothes.
The lock was broken.
My door stood open.
My clothes were dumped across the floor.
The mattress slashed.
Lucia’s drawings torn from the wall.
My stomach turned to ice.
Then I saw the note on the kitchen counter.
Still think you can keep her?
No signature.
It didn’t need one.
Evan.
Lucia’s father.
He had never hit me.
He always said that like it made him decent.
But he knew how to destroy rooms.
How to empty accounts.
How to call me unstable in court with a calm voice and clean shirt.
I called the police.
They came.
They wrote things down.
They looked tired before I finished speaking.
“Any proof it was him?” one asked.
I stared at the destroyed room.
“No.”
“Could be a burglary.”
“Nothing was stolen.”
“Still.”
Still.
That word had buried half my life.
My phone buzzed.
Victor Rinaldi.
I almost didn’t answer.
Then I remembered I needed the job.
“Hello?”
“You’re late.”
“My apartment was broken into.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Address.”
“I already called police.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
I should have refused.
I gave it to him.
Twenty minutes later, a black SUV stopped outside my building.
Victor stepped out in a dark coat, followed by Marco.
Not his son.
His man.
Adult Marco.
I hated that there were two Marcos now.
Victor entered my apartment and looked around once.
Only once.
His face turned deadly.
“Who did this?”
“My ex.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“Can you prove it?”
“No.”
He crouched and picked up one torn drawing.
Lucia had drawn me and her under a yellow sun.
He held it carefully.
Like it mattered.
That was worse than indifference.
“He knows about your hearing?”
“Yes.”
“He wants custody?”
“To hurt me.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“Where is your daughter now?”
“With my neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez.”
“Pack what matters.”
I laughed, short and bitter.
“Did you miss the part where I said I can’t prove anything?”
“Did you miss the part where your home is no longer safe?”
I looked around.
He was right.
I hated that.
I packed documents.
Lucia’s birth certificate.
Court papers.
School records.
Three salvageable outfits.
The torn drawing.
When we reached Mrs. Alvarez’s apartment, Lucia ran into my arms.
“Mama!”
I held her so tightly she squeaked.
Then she saw Victor.
Her eyes widened.
“Is he a prince?”
Victor blinked.
I choked on a laugh.
“No, baby.”
Lucia studied his coat.
“He looks like a dark prince.”
Victor looked deeply uncomfortable.
Good.
Mrs. Alvarez pulled me aside.
“Evan came by yesterday.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“He asked what time you worked now. I told him nothing.”
I hugged her.
“Thank you.”
Victor heard.
Of course he did.
He looked at his man.
“Find him.”
I turned fast.
“No.”
Victor’s eyes met mine.
“He threatened your child.”
“We do this legally.”
His mouth tightened.
“And if law moves too slowly?”
“Then I still have to face a judge and prove I’m safe. Not connected to whatever you are.”
For a moment, nobody breathed.
Then Victor nodded once.
May you like
“Legally, then.”
That was how Lucia and I arrived at the Rinaldi estate with two bags, one torn drawing, and no idea that my custody fight had just become part of something much bigger.
