Everything's a test

Michele’s POV

Trust is a word I don’t use. Not in this life. Trust gets you killed.

The man sits across from me, shoulders stiff, eyes darting like he can’t decide if he should run or beg again. Erin Cole. That’s the name he gave me. I don’t know if it’s real, but it doesn’t matter. Real or fake, I’ll find out. Men always show themselves when you press hard enough.

My son shifts on my lap, quiet as ever. He clings to me, his small fingers curling around my sleeve. I glance down at him, then back to the man who claims he wants to be a nanny. A male nanny. The idea alone is ridiculous. But desperation makes men step into roles they don’t belong in.

I want to see if he’ll survive five minutes under pressure. If not, I’ll have him dragged back out to the street where he belongs.

I lean back in my chair, stroking the boy’s hair once before speaking. My voice is calm, but every word is a weight.

“You owe money,” I say.

His throat bobs. “Yes.”

“To who?”

He hesitates. That’s the first test. Hesitation. His eyes flicker, weighing whether telling me the truth is worse than hiding it.

“Loan sharks,” he says finally.

I tilt my head. “Names.”

His lips press together, a small pause. Then: “Dante Rizzo. His crew.”

I study him. Rizzo. Small-time thug, too greedy for his own good. Sloppy. The kind of man who bites off more than he can chew. I know his name. I know his debts. But what interests me more is that Erin doesn’t lie. He gives me a name he knows I could check.

“Why did you borrow from him?” I ask.

Erin grips the poster tighter, the paper crumpling further in his fist. “Because I thought I could pay it back. I was wrong.”

His voice cracks a little, but his eyes don’t drop. He’s not brave. He’s cornered. Cornered animals bite hardest.

I drum my fingers against the desk. “And why did you come here?”

“Because two million is enough to make them back off.”

I almost laugh. The sound doesn’t come, but the thought is bitter. He really thinks money is enough to make men like Rizzo disappear. If anything, money is gasoline on their fire.

I let the silence stretch, the weight of it pressing down on him. The boy in my arms shifts again, restless. He looks at Erin with wide eyes, then hides against me.

I smooth his hair back and ask, “What do you know about children?”

Erin blinks. His mouth opens, then closes. He looks like a man asked to recite poetry in a language he’s never learned.

“I… I don’t,” he admits.

The honesty surprises me. Most men would lie, spin a story, make themselves sound perfect. He doesn’t.

“You don’t know how to care for them. And yet you came here.”

“Yes.”

“Because of the money.”

“Yes.”

I narrow my eyes. “So if I told you to put my son’s life before yours… what would you do?”

He freezes. His lips part, but no sound comes. He stares at the boy, then at me, then back at the boy. His hands shake, gripping the edge of the chair.

“I… I’d protect him,” he whispers. “Even if it meant me.”

The words sound weak, but there’s something behind them. A shadow of truth. Or maybe just desperation. I can’t tell yet.

I press further. “Even if it meant torture? Death? Even if Rizzo himself came to the door and offered you freedom in exchange for handing over my son?”

His chest rises too fast. He swallows hard, eyes wide. His skin pales. He doesn’t answer right away, and that’s good. Quick answers are lies.

Finally, he says, “I’d… I’d keep him safe. I’d rather they take me.”

The words scrape out like broken glass. His voice shakes, but his eyes don’t move from mine.

I let the silence hang. I watch him drown in it.

Then I stand, setting my son back down on the rug. The boy kneels with his toy car again, quiet, pretending not to listen. He hears everything. He always does.

I walk around the desk, slow, deliberate. Erin stiffens as I approach. He doesn’t look away, but his knuckles whiten as he grips the arms of the chair.

I stop just behind him. Lean down, my breath brushing his ear.

“Do you lie to me, Erin Cole?”

His body jolts, but he shakes his head. “No.”

“Do you steal?”

“No.”

“Have you killed?”

He hesitates. Just a second. Then: “No.”

I watch the way his shoulders twitch, the way his voice strains. I believe him. But belief is dangerous.

I circle back to face him. My hands rest on the edge of the desk, my body leaning forward, towering over him.

“You say you’ll do anything. You say you’ll protect my son. You say you won’t lie. But words mean nothing here.”

His throat bobs.

I nod once toward the boy, who pushes the toy car across the floor, the sound small but sharp in the silence.

“Look at him.”

Erin turns his head, slowly. His eyes soften, just a fraction.

“That’s my blood,” I say. My voice is steel now. “My future. My life. I would burn this city to ash before I let someone harm him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Erin whispers.

“If you’re lying, if you so much as think of betrayal, I will carve out your tongue and feed it to the dogs before you take another breath.”

His face drains of color. His fingers clutch the chair like it’s the only thing holding him to the ground.

“Do you still want this job?”

“Yes.”

The answer is too fast, too desperate. I lean back, studying him. He’s either the bravest fool I’ve ever seen or the dumbest. Maybe both.

I walk back behind the desk, lift my son onto my lap again. The boy rests his head against me, thumb brushing his lip as his eyes stay on Erin. Quiet judgment from a child who shouldn’t have to judge anyone.

I stroke his hair, still watching the man across from me.

“You’ll start tonight,” I say finally. “Not because I trust you. Not because I believe you. But because desperate men can be useful.”

Erin exhales, the sound shaking, uneven. Relief flashes in his eyes.

I let him have it for only a second before I cut it away.

“But make no mistake.” My voice sharpens. “This is not mercy. This is a test. Everything you do, everything you say, every look in your eyes, I will see it. If you falter once, you’re finished.”

His lips part, but he doesn’t speak.

I lean back in my chair, my son’s small weight grounding me, reminding me why I’m even considering this madness.

“We’ll see if you’re worth keeping.”