Chapter 4

By the end of the month, cold rain had been falling for days, and Port San Vito smelled of mildew and brine.

I took half a day off, called the family's moving crew, and had them remove everything I owned: the furniture, the appliances, and even the floor lamp I had bought myself.

The vast apartment held nothing but the battered sofa Marianna had originally provided and a coffee table with one broken leg.

At two that afternoon, someone pounded on the door with undisguised aggression.

The moment I opened it, Marianna barged in on high heels. She had not come alone.

Carlo came in next, wearing his gray coat. Behind him was Nico, Marianna's son and Carlo's nephew, a heavyset street thug in his early twenties with a shoddy tattoo on his neck.

This was not the look of a move-out inspection. This was a raid.

"Well, you certainly cleared the place out." Marianna surveyed the empty living room, her shrill voice bouncing off the bare walls. "Irene, where did you hide my good furniture? Are you trying to steal your landlord's property?!"

Leaning against the entryway wall, I watched her performance coldly, then pulled a file from my bag and tossed it onto the broken coffee table.

"These are the time-stamped photos I took with this old furniture when I moved in two years ago, along with the email confirmations.

"I haven't touched one piece of your garbage. Now inspect the apartment and give me back my nine thousand dollars. I'm in a hurry."

Carlo scoffed.

Nico stepped forward, produced a high-powered flashlight, and began prowling through the apartment. He also carried a stack of red sticky notes.

"There's a scratch in this corner, less than half an inch long." Nico smiled coldly and stuck a red note on the wall. "Repainting: five hundred dollars.

"The refrigerator seal is worn out, so it doesn't stay cold." He stuck another note onto the broken, ten-year-old refrigerator. "Imported replacement part: one thousand dollars.

"Floor wear and dents: two thousand dollars.

"Snagged curtains: eight hundred dollars."

In less than ten minutes, glaring red labels covered the once-empty apartment.

Finally, Carlo leisurely pulled a calculator from his pocket, made a show of pressing a few buttons, and slapped a handwritten bill down in front of me.

"I've added it up." Carlo blew a smoke ring and looked down at me. "Irene, for old times' sake, I'll round it down. Your entire nine-thousand-dollar deposit is gone, and it still doesn't cover the damage. You owe us another seven thousand."

I looked down at that absurd bill. When I moved in two years ago, even the lock on the door of this apartment was broken.

"This is daylight robbery." I swept a cold gaze over the three greedy faces. "I'm not paying a cent."

"That isn't up to you!" Marianna stepped forward and blocked the door. "You don't hand over seven thousand dollars today, and you don't leave this apartment! The Rossi family's word is the only contract that matters!"

I said nothing. I pulled my phone from my coat pocket, ready to signal Victor downstairs.

The instant my screen lit up, Nico lunged at me like a rabid dog and snatched the phone away.

He smashed it against the concrete floor, then ground his heavy boot over it twice.

"Calling the cops? Or your spineless boss?" Nico's heavy features quivered with excitement as he pulled a folding knife from his belt. "On this street, even the cops know better than to interfere with us! Pay up!"

"Do you know what you just smashed?" I asked quietly.

"It's just a crappy phone! I'll pay for it—"

"No." I cut him off and glanced at the Patek Philippe on my wrist. "What you smashed was your last chance to stay alive."