Chapter 4: Room 901

*POV: Aliyah*

I didn’t go to St. Michael’s.

Not at 4:07 PM. Not at 5:00 PM. I sat in the apartment until 6:43 PM and told myself I wasn’t going. Rosie was still on shift. The place was empty. The receipt from the bursar’s office was on the table. $259,843.00. PAID IN FULL. It hadn’t moved. I hadn’t touched it.

At 6:44 PM I was on the F train.

Don’t ask me why. I don’t have a good answer. Mrs. Chen said gifts like this have strings. Justin said I was already his. The text said _Alone_. And I went anyway. Because when a man pays your tuition without asking and knows which side of the bed you sleep on, you want to see his face when he says it.

St. Michael’s smelled like bleach and coffee and that metallic thing hospitals have. The same smell from last night, except last night it was on his blood. Tonight it was just the building.

The front desk nurse didn’t stop me. She looked up, looked at my face, and went back to her chart. Like she’d been told to expect me.

Room 901 was on the ninth floor. Private wing. No room numbers on the doors, just brass plates. 901 was at the end. A man in a black suit stood outside it. Not a doctor. Not a cop. His suit fit better than the cops’ did.

He saw me. Said nothing. Opened the door.

I stepped in.

Dominic Blackwood was sitting up in bed.

No tubes. No machines. Just a bandage under a white T-shirt, the edge of it visible at his collarbone. Black sweatpants. Bare feet. He looked like a man who’d been stabbed twenty hours ago and decided he was done with it.

His face was clean. The blood was gone. The bruising was already yellow at the edges. Fast healer. Or good doctors. Or both.

His eyes were the same. Blue. Not gray. Not green. Blue like the lake upstate where the water goes black.

He didn’t look surprised to see me. He looked like he’d been waiting. Like 4:07 PM was a suggestion and 6:47 PM was when I’d actually show.

“You came,” he said. His voice wasn’t scraped raw anymore. Just low.

“You paid my tuition,” I said. I didn’t sit. “Without asking.”

“You saved my life,” he said. “Without asking.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same.” He nodded at the chair next to the bed. “Sit. You’re shaking.”

I wasn’t. Then I was. I sat.

He watched me. Not like Justin watched me. Not like the frat boys at Brew watched me. Like he was cataloguing. My hands. My face. The fact that my neck was bare.

He reached into the drawer of the bedside table. Pulled out a box. Cream. Flat. Pushed it across the blanket toward me.

I didn’t open it. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s a scarf,” he said. “Winter’s coming. You don’t have one.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“You already took it.” He tapped the bandage. “And I already paid it. Directive 9.1. Debt’s cleared.”

“Then we’re done.”

He smiled. Not nice. Not unkind. Just like he knew something I didn’t. “Are we?”

“Yes.”

“Check your phone.”

I didn’t want to. I did anyway. One new text. 6:46 PM.

_You’re here. Good. —D_

He hadn’t looked at his phone. It was face down on the table. Next to the box.

“How did you—”

“Antonio,” he said. “Outside. He texts when someone comes in. You’ve been here two minutes.”

I stood up. “I’m leaving.”

“You can,” he said. “Door’s not locked. Antonio won’t stop you. But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have questions. Because you want to know why I said _better_.”

I did. I hated that I did.

“Sit down, Aliyah.”

My name in his mouth. Again. He’d said it in the alley. Said it to Justin. Said it in texts. Every time it sounded like he was claiming it.

I sat.

“Ask,” he said.

“Why did you pay it?”

“Because you bled for me. Blackwoods don’t carry debt.”

“How did you know the amount? How did you know about NYU?”

“You told me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. In the alley. You said ‘I’m Aliyah. You’re not dying tonight.’ Then you said ‘It’s my dad’s’ about the scarf. Then you passed out for three seconds when the EMTs took you off me. You mumbled. People mumble when they’re crashing. You said NYU. Said graduation. Said hold.”

I didn’t remember that. “I didn’t pass out.”

“You did. For three seconds. I counted.”

“You were dying.”

“I was listening.” His eyes didn’t move from mine. “I hear everything when I’m bleeding. Survival thing. You learn it young.”

“Who stabbed you?”

“Not your problem.”

“You made it my problem when you paid my tuition.”

“Fair.” He shifted. Winced. Just a little. Then it was gone. “Carlo Vetti. He works for my uncle. Or he did. He won’t anymore.”

“Your uncle did this?”

“My uncle ordered it. Carlo held the knife. Distinction matters.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t kill family. You send someone else. So it’s not your hand.”

“Rosie’s your sister.”

He went still. “She told you.”

“She did. She also said she hasn’t spoken to you in two years.”

“That’s true.”

“Why?”

“Because two years ago I made a choice. She didn’t agree with it. She left. She’s safer for it.”

“From you?”

“From what’s around me.” He looked at the door. Then back. “Justin told you to stay away from me.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t.”

“He found me. I didn’t find him.”

“Now I’m finding you.”

“I don’t want to be found.”

“Too late.” He said it the same way Justin had. _Then it’s too late. For you to not be his._ “You’re in the ledger, Aliyah. Directive 9.1. Life debt cleared. New ledger starts now.”

“I didn’t agree to a new ledger.”

“You didn’t agree to the first one either. You still acted. You still saved. Intent doesn’t matter. Action does.”

“What do you want?”

He looked at me for a long time. Then he said, “Dinner.”

“What?”

“Dinner. With me. Friday. When I’m discharged. You pick the place. Public. Safe. No business. No Blackwoods. Just you and me. One meal. You ask your questions. I answer them. After that, you walk. If you want. No strings.”

I stared at him. “You paid $259,843 to ask me to dinner?”

“I paid $259,843 because you kept me alive. Dinner is separate. It’s the price for answers.”

My phone buzzed. I didn’t look. His was still face down.

“Rosie,” he said. “She’s on her way up. She’s going to be pissed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Antonio texted me. She’s in the elevator. You have thirty seconds before she gets here and this becomes a different conversation.”

I stood up. “I should go.”

“Probably.” He didn’t move to stop me. “Friday. You pick the place. Text me. Or don’t. But if you don’t, I’ll find you again. And next time I won’t ask.”

The door opened.

Rosie stood there. Scrubs. Face white. She looked at him. Then at me. Then at the cream box on the bed.

“Aliyah,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.