#Chapter 4: An Empty Table Is Not Fitting For A Dinner Party

I blink the sleep from my eyes. I can't have really seen Don Federico in my bedroom, right?

Sure enough, after I rub my eyes, he's gone. Which either means he's a ghost or—more likely—the stress of job hunting is getting to me.

There's only one solution to that problem. I need to get these applications filled out quickly.

I know I need to start earning money again before my meager savings disappear.

I start job hunting as soon as I'm awake. I check the online listings and send out my resume, but I quickly decide to check out some local spots in person. There's always some shop or dive bar that's hiring.

While they're not my preferred places, I refuse to give into James—or, more accurately, his girlfriend Alessia. Even though I've only seen her once, it's obvious who's in control in that relationship. James is putty in that woman's hands—she holds all the power.

There's no way James got me fired from my job on fake charges without Alessia knowing about it.

"I guess they deserve each other," I mutter miserably as I head downtown.

Still, I'm not going to let those jerks win! There's got to be some place that wants an employee as hardworking as me. Right?

To my great surprise, nobody is hiring. Not even the shitty businesses that barely check your paperwork.

Or, more accurately, they're not willing to hire me. Every time I approach an employee about a "Help Wanted" sign, they're all smiles until I tell them my name. Then they're suddenly all, "Oh, I forgot—that position was actually just filled!"

I had no idea James' influence ran this deep over Oakland. While I can believe he had old family connections at Biggie's, it's harder to understand how a simple pharmacist has sway over an entire town. Maybe Alessia has more strings she can pull?

Recalling how James was wrapped around her finger and hanging on her every word, it's not hard to imagine Alessia holding that same power over every businessman in town.

Who should I run into on my way home but the person I most want to avoid—my mom's debt collector. Because that's the perfect shitty cherry on the shitty sundae of my terrible, horrible, godforsaken day.

"Hailey," he says, not even pretending to be happy to see me. There's no way he hasn't heard about my bad luck streak—news travels fast in a sleepy small town.

"Randy," I say back. "Listen, I can still get you your money. I just need a couple extra days."

Randy laughs. It's the same chain-smoker, ugly laugh I heard him use on my mom years ago when I was supposed to be asleep in bed.

"Sounds like you're not planning to pay me tomorrow, Hailey," he says with a smile. "But if you can't pay in cash, there's always another way to get back my money's worth."

"Randy, come on, I've always kept up with your payments. I'm asking for an extra three days, that's it. Don't be—"

My next words die on my tongue. Because Randy viciously grabs my hair and pulls.

I scream.

Randy puts a hand over my mouth. "None of that," he hushes darkly.

He moves his hands to my arms, locking my shoulders and making them useless.

"Lucky that we're not too far from a business outpost, right, Hailey?"

Randy drags me to the "business outpost." It's a goddamn mafia front—the locals call it a delivery center. People get trafficked through places like these all the time.

Randy doesn't say a word as he forces me into an empty conference room. Two men—who were probably standing guard—come over to Randy as he leaves the room. The glass walls let me see that they're talking but I can't hear a word.

Not that I need to hear anything. I know exactly what's going to happen. Randy has threatened this fate more than once.

I'm going to be sold and made an exotic dancer. Randy will sell my body to anyone who can pay for it. And if their pockets are deep enough, they can access every inch of my flesh—nothing is off limits if the money is given upfront.

I've heard plenty of stories of women ending up in this situation. They either contract some deadly STD from having sex with the wrong stranger or become addicted to drugs while trying to dull the pain of doing the sex work. Of course, before they die, the mafia is sure to harvest each woman's organs and sell them on the black market.

They need to get their money's worth from their debtors, after all.

I'm scared. I'm so, so terrified of what horrible things are going to happen to me.

But I'm also angry. I fought so hard and made so many tough choices, and this is what happens to me? Are you fucking kidding?

There was never a real choice. Just like how I couldn't choose who my mom was, I couldn't prevent her debtors from coming after me and claiming me as an asset—like I'm just a piece of furniture left in my mother's will.

My choices were already made by the assholes outside my room. They decided I was theirs. That's all that mattered.

Well fuck that. I feel my anger overtake my terror. I'm not going to die here because the mafia said I have to.

I watch the men outside and wait for an opening. Once I see that they're distracted, I'll make a run for the exit. It's not a great plan, but I'd rather risk my life for my freedom than die because they declared I had to.

I wait. Seconds tick on, but they feel like hours. I start to worry I might never find my opening.

Then the two guards move away from the door. Randy's starting to lead them away!

I don't hesitate. I run.

"Stop her! Behind you!"

I don't make it very far. A man's arm reaches for me, trying to drag me back. I elbow him hard in the ribs.

This unfortunately gives the other guard a chance to grab at my hair. I panic and headbutt him.

Which works because he does let go. But it's also a terrible idea because I hurt myself in the process. I'm seeing stars and my ears are ringing. I do my best to stagger to the door.

Randy pushes me to the floor. My knees sting as they're scraped up by the hard ground.

We fight, rolling to and fro. I put everything into this fight, not caring how Randy pulls and punches me. I just need to get away—otherwise, I'll die.

I wildly kick in his direction, earning myself some space. I do my best to stand but tumble back to the floor. I must be more hurt than I realize.

In that same moment, I make a different realization. I can't win this fight alone.

The front door suddenly opens. Don Federico enters the building, the lampposts outside lighting his hair like a halo as he does so.

Don Federico pulls out a gun. I hear Randy and his men rise and draw their own weapons. Don Federic fires three shots before they can even blink.

Suddenly, I'm the only other person still breathing.

Don Federic walks to where I've fallen. He cups my face and lifts it to him. "Have you made your decision yet?"