Chapter Three: Sold

Elena

I pressed myself against the basement wall and held my breath.

The voices upstairs were muffled, but I could hear enough. The man with the cold voice. My uncle begging. The gunshot that had made my ears ring.

And then silence.

I waited for more sounds. For footsteps. For another shot. For anything.

Nothing came.

My legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand. I grabbed the washing machine for support. The metal was cold under my fingers. My hands were still raw from the bleach, the skin cracked and bleeding.

I had to get out of the basement. I had to see what happened.

But I could not move.

The fear was too big. It filled my chest, my throat, my lungs. I could not breathe. I could not think. I could only press myself into the wall and wait for something to happen.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. I did not know anymore.

Then I heard footsteps on the stairs.

My heart stopped.

They were heavy, slow and deliberate. The footsteps of a man who was not in a hurry. A man who had all the time in the world.

I looked around the basement for somewhere to hide. But there was nowhere. Only boxes of old clothes, broken furniture, dust and darkness.

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs.

I closed my eyes.

A light turned on. I flinched and raised my hands to cover my face.

"Elena."

I knew that voice.

I lowered my hands slowly. Uncle Dante stood at the bottom of the stairs. His face was pale. His hands were shaking. But he was alive.

The relief that flooded through me made my knees weak.

"Uncle," I breathed. "I heard a gunshot. I thought…"

"It was nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly. "A warning. That is all. They just wanted to scare me."

I looked at his face. There was something in his eyes I had never seen before. Not anger. Not cruelty. Something else. Something that made my stomach turn.

"Who were those men?" I asked.

He did not answer. He walked toward me and grabbed my arm. His grip was tight. Tighter than usual.

"We need to go upstairs," he said. "Now."

"Uncle, what is happening?"

He pulled me toward the stairs. I stumbled, my bare foot catching on a box. Pain shot up my leg. I cried out, but he did not stop. He dragged me up the stairs and into the kitchen.

He pushed me toward the table. "Sit."

"I need to clean the…"

"Sit!"

I sat.

He walked to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely open it. He poured a glass and drank it in one swallow. Then another.

I watched him in silence. The fear in my chest was growing. Something had happened upstairs. Something worse than a warning.

"Uncle," I said quietly. "Please tell me what is going on."

He turned to look at me. His eyes were wild. The eyes of a cornered animal.

"They came for the money," he said. "The men I borrowed from. They said if I do not pay by Friday, they will take everything."

I already knew about the debt. I had heard him on the phone late at night. I had seen the men in suits at the door. But I had never seen him like this. Never seen him afraid.

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

He laughed. It was a wet, broken sound. "We? There is no we, Elena. There is only me. And I have nothing left to give them."

I looked at the kitchen around us. The old cabinets. The cracked tiles. The empty refrigerator. He was right. There was nothing here worth taking.

"What about the house?" I said.

"It is mortgaged. They already own it."

"The furniture?"

"Worthless."

I swallowed hard. "Then what are you going to do?"

He looked at me then. Really looked. His eyes traveled over my face, my hair, my body. The way a man looks at something he is measuring. Something he is pricing.

I felt my blood go cold.

He walked toward me slowly. The whiskey glass was empty in his hand. He set it on the table and sat down across from me.

"You are going somewhere with me," he said. His voice was different now. Calmer and controlled. "Somewhere you would finally be of value to me."

My heart raced. My hands started shaking.

"No, uncle. I do not want to go anywhere."

He did not listen.

He stood up and grabbed my wrist. His fingers dug into my flesh. He pulled me out of the chair and dragged me toward the door.

"No!" I screamed. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. "Please! Let me go!"

He ignored me. He pulled me down the front steps and across the driveway. His car was parked there. An old thing with rust on the doors. He opened the passenger door and shoved me inside. My knees hit the dashboard. My hands scraped against the door. Before I could catch my breath, he was beside me. The door slammed shut. 

The locks clicked.

"No!" I screamed. I grabbed the door handle and pulled. It did not move. I pulled again. The locks would not open. I was trapped.

"Please, uncle," I begged. Tears were streaming down my face. "Please do not do this. I will do anything. I will work harder. I will eat less. I will disappear. Just please let me go."

He did not answer. He started the engine and pulled away from the house.

I turned to him. My whole body was shaking. "Please. I am begging you. I will run away. You will never see me again."

He kept his eyes on the road. They were empty.

"Please," I sobbed. "I will do anything. Just take me home."

He laughed. "Home? You have no home, Elena. Not anymore. That house belongs to the bank now. And you belong to me. At least until I find someone to take you off my hands."

My blood went cold. "What does that mean?"