Chapter 3

Bianca's shirt was twisted so tight in Anna's fist that the fabric cut into her neck. She could feel Anna's breath on her face, could see the absolute coldness in those dark eyes, and for the first time since this nightmare began, real fear crashed over her like a wave.

This woman would actually do it. She would rip Bianca's throat out right here, right now, and not think twice about it.

"Okay," Bianca gasped out. "Okay, I will do it. Just let go of me."

Anna held her for one more second, two, three, then released her so suddenly that Bianca stumbled backward, catching herself on the edge of a table. Her hands flew to her throat, touching the skin there like she needed to make sure it was still intact.

Anna smoothed down the front of her red blazer like nothing had happened. "Well? I am waiting."

Bianca turned toward her father, and the movement felt strange, disjointed. How long had it been since Anna walked through that door? Ten minutes? Fifteen? It felt like hours.

And in all that time, Bianca had barely looked at her father.

She had been so focused on Anna, on the men with guns, on the impossible debt and the threats, that she had not really seen him. But now she turned and looked at him fully, and what she saw made her stomach twist.

He was still standing behind the counter. His face was gray, slick with sweat. His hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles had gone white. And his eyes.

His eyes were the worst part.

They were the eyes of a man who had already died inside. Empty. Defeated.

"Dad?" Bianca's voice came out small and confused. "Dad, what is going on? Why are you looking like that?"

He did not answer. He was staring at Anna with an expression that looked almost like guilt.

"Dad, answer me!" Bianca took a step toward him. "Who is this woman? How does she know your name? Why is she saying these things about our cafe and our house?"

Still nothing. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Bianca felt panic rising in her chest. Nothing about this made sense. Her father was not a man who dealt with people like Anna Adams. He ran a small cafe. He served coffee and sandwiches to neighborhood regulars. He went to church on Sundays.

He did not borrow money from dangerous women in red suits.

Except apparently he did.

"This is insane," Bianca said, turning back to Anna. "I do not know what kind of scam you are running, but you need to leave. Right now. Get out of our cafe before I call the police."

One of the suited men laughed. The sound was low and mean.

Anna did not laugh. She just watched Bianca with that same calculating expression. "Call the police. Go ahead. I would love to see how that conversation goes."

"I am serious. You cannot just walk in here and threaten people and wave guns around. That is illegal."

"You think the police will help you?" Anna's tone was almost pitying. "The police in this city know exactly who I am. Half of them are on my payroll."

"I do not believe you."

"Try it then. Call them. See what happens." Anna pulled out her phone and held it out. "Here. Use my phone. I will even dial the number for you."

Bianca stared at the phone. She did not take it. Something in Anna's confidence made her conviction waver.

"That is what I thought," Anna said, putting the phone back. "Now, I believe I gave you an instruction. Invite your father to the table."

Bianca swallowed hard. "Dad, she wants you to come sit at the table."

He did not move.

"Dad, please. Please just do what she says so she will leave."

Finally, her father's eyes shifted to meet hers. And what she saw there made her breath catch. It was despair. Complete and total despair.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "Bianca, I am so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Bianca moved toward him. "Dad, what are you talking about?"

"For everything. For all of this. For what I did."

"What did you do?" Bianca's voice was rising. "What are you talking about?"

Anna's voice cut through the moment. "What is going to happen is your father is going to sit down at this table like I asked. And then we are all going to have a very honest conversation about the debt he owes me."

"Stop calling it a debt! Stop acting like you have some kind of claim on us! This is our cafe. This is our life!"

"No." Anna's voice went hard. "You need to understand something, Bianca. I am not the one who needs to leave. You are."

Bianca blinked. "What?"

"You and your father. You are the ones in the wrong place." Anna walked over to the counter, running her finger along the surface. "This cafe? I own it. The building it sits in? I own that too. The little house three blocks from here where you and your father live? Also mine."

"That is not true," Bianca said, but her voice was weak.

"Is it not?" Anna turned to Bianca's father. "Marcus, why do you not tell your daughter the truth? Tell her what you did nineteen years ago."

Bianca's father made a sound that might have been a sob.

"Dad?" Bianca's voice was barely a whisper. "Dad, tell her she is lying."

But he did not. He just stood there crying, and his silence was louder than any words.

"He used this cafe and your house as collateral," Anna continued. "When he took the loan from me, he put up everything he owned as guarantee. He thought his wife would survive and everything would be fine. But she did not survive. And he never paid me back. Not one single dollar."

"No." Bianca shook her head. "No, he would have told me."

"Why would he tell you? You were six years old when this happened."

Six years old. Bianca had been six when her mother died.

"The property should have been mine years ago," Anna said. "But I am a patient woman. I gave your father time. I gave him years to figure out how to pay me back. And he wasted all of it."

Bianca felt like the floor was tilting. "Dad, is this true? Please tell me this is not true."

Her father finally spoke, his voice broken. "It is true. All of it. I am sorry, Bianca."

The world seemed to stop.

Anna walked closer to Bianca. "So you see, I am not the one who needs to leave. I am the one who has every right to be here. You and your father are the ones who should be grateful I have not evicted you already."

Bianca could not speak. Could not think.

"But I am feeling generous today," Anna continued. "So I am going to give you a choice." She turned to Bianca's father. "Marcus, you can die today and let your debt die with you. Or you can live and watch what happens next."

Anna looked back at Bianca, and her smile was cruel. "How would you feel, Bianca, if your father died on the same day as your mother? Nineteen years apart, but the same date. That would make the memorial services easy, would it not? You would only need to light candles once a year for both of them."