Chapter 2 - The Debt That Wasn’t Hers
Charmian stared at the bloodstained shirt for so long that Vincent could almost watch her building another lie.
He stopped her before she began.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Sir?”
“Whatever you’re about to tell me, don’t.”
Vincent leaned back in his chair.
“I know about Tommy.”
Charmian froze.
“I know about the forty thousand dollars.”
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her apron.
“I know about the parking garage.”
She stopped breathing.
“And I know why you missed your midterm.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Charmian whispered, “How?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Vincent’s eyebrows rose slightly.
There it was.
The stubbornness he had noticed beneath the fear.
Good.
Fear could be useful.
But he preferred people who still possessed enough spine to challenge him.
“Security footage. Attendance records. Employment history. People who talk when Aleandro asks questions.”
Charmian looked toward the door.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“Without asking.”
“Yes.”
Her expression changed.
Not gratitude.
Anger.
Vincent had expected fear.
He had not expected anger.
“You had no right.”
Aleandro, standing near the bookshelves, looked as though he had suddenly discovered the most interesting painting in the room.
Vincent studied her.
“No right?”
Charmian stood.
“You’re my employer, Mr. Costa. You pay me to clean your house. That doesn’t mean you own my life.”
Vincent’s voice became quieter.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
Aleandro slowly removed his glasses and polished them, clearly preparing for disaster.
Nobody told Vincent Costa no.
Almost nobody survived making it a habit.
But Charmian’s eyes were bright with humiliation.
“You had people go through my life because you saw me washing dishes?”
“I saw bruises.”
“I said I fell.”
“You lied.”
“That was my choice.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“And the Petrovs beating you was their choice?”
Charmian recoiled.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can handle it.”
“By working until three in the morning? Missing school? Cleaning blood out of warehouses?”
Her face flushed.
“I said I can handle it.”
“No. You’re surviving it.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Charmian looked away.
Vincent could see her fighting tears.
She hated them.
Hated the weakness of crying in front of anyone.
Especially him.
“They’ll hurt Tommy if I stop paying,” she whispered.
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Tommy abandoned you.”
“He’s my brother.”
“He borrowed forty thousand dollars from criminals and disappeared.”
“You think I don’t know what he did?”
Her voice broke.
“He’s still my brother.”
Vincent stood.
Charmian instinctively stepped backward.
He stopped.
Again that reaction.
Again that flicker of fear.
Vincent lowered his voice.
“What exactly did the Petrovs tell you?”
Charmian hesitated.
“Everything.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She folded her arms around herself.
“They found me after class.”
“In the garage.”
“Yes.”
“One of them grabbed your arm.”
She looked surprised.
“You really saw the footage.”
“Yes.”
Charmian swallowed.
“They said Tommy owed them forty thousand. He stopped answering calls. They said debt doesn’t disappear because somebody runs.”
“What did they ask from you?”
“Money.”
“You don’t have forty thousand dollars.”
“I told them that.”
“And?”
“They said I could work.”
Vincent’s eyes turned cold.
Charmian continued before he could interrupt.
“Cleaning. Deliveries. Nothing else.”
“You believe that would remain true?”
She said nothing.
Vincent walked behind his desk.
“How much have you paid?”
“Three thousand eight hundred.”
Aleandro whistled softly.
Charmian looked embarrassed.
“They add interest.”
“Of course they do,” Vincent said.
“At first they said if I gave them five hundred a week, they’d leave me alone. Then Tommy disappeared completely, and suddenly it became eight hundred. Then twelve hundred.”
“How many hours are you sleeping?”
Charmian shrugged.
“That wasn’t a complicated question.”
“Two. Sometimes three.”
“And school?”
“I’ll catch up.”
“You missed a midterm.”
“My professor might let me retake it.”
Vincent stared at her.
“You’re nineteen years old.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re carrying your brother’s criminal debt while attending college and working two legitimate jobs plus whatever the Petrovs order.”
“I’m handling it.”
“There’s that phrase again.”
Charmian’s eyes flashed.
“What do you want me to say? That I’m scared?”
Vincent did not answer.
“Fine. I’m scared.”
The words came suddenly.
“I’m terrified.”
Silence.
Charmian’s voice became shaky.
“Every time a car slows down near me, I think it’s them. Every time my phone rings after midnight, I know they’ve found another place they want cleaned. I sleep with a chair against my apartment door.”
Vincent’s expression changed slightly.
“But what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Go to the police?”
“You could.”
She laughed bitterly.
“And tell them what? That Tommy borrowed money from men whose gambling operations apparently exist right under everybody’s nose?”
Aleandro coughed.
Charmian looked from him to Vincent.
Then understanding crossed her face.
“Oh.”
Vincent said nothing.
Her eyes widened.
“You know them.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Vincent held her gaze.
“They work in territory controlled by my organization.”
Charmian became very pale.
She already knew Vincent Costa was not an ordinary businessman.
Anyone working in the estate eventually understood that.
The guards.
The armored cars.
The men who addressed Vincent as boss.
Nobody asked direct questions.
Now she had received an answer anyway.
“They work for you?” she whispered.
“No.”
“But you control them.”
“I control whether they continue operating.”
Charmian stared at him.
A different kind of fear entered her eyes.
Vincent hated it.
“So this happened because of you.”
Aleandro stopped polishing his glasses.
Vincent’s expression became unreadable.
Charmian immediately realized what she had said.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
She looked down.
Vincent walked toward the window.
The accusation was not entirely wrong.
The Petrovs were not Costa soldiers.
But they operated because the Costa syndicate collected money from them and enforced boundaries between competing crews.
Their money flowed upward.
Their violence had always been treated as a predictable cost of business.
Until now.
Until one of the consequences had appeared bleeding in Vincent’s kitchen.
“You’re right,” he said.
Charmian looked up.
Even Aleandro looked surprised.
Vincent continued.
“I didn’t order them to touch you. But I tolerated men who believed they could.”
He turned.
“That changes today.”
Charmian shook her head immediately.
“No.”
Vincent stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“If you threaten them, they’ll think I talked.”
“You did talk.”
“Not willingly.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Almost.
Charmian stepped closer to the desk.
“They’ll hurt Tommy.”
“If they have Tommy.”
“They’ll hurt me.”
“No.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
Something in Vincent’s tone made the room colder.
Charmian looked toward Aleandro.
He gave the smallest shrug.
Vincent moved around the desk.
“As of today, you do not answer Petrov calls.”
“They’ll come looking.”
“Let them.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“They know where I live.”
“You’re not returning to your apartment.”
Charmian blinked.
“What?”
“You’ll stay here temporarily.”
“No.”
Vincent closed his eyes for one second.
Aleandro turned toward the wall to hide a smile.
Charmian planted both hands on the desk.
“I am not moving into my employer’s mansion because my brother is an idiot.”
“You already spend half your life here.”
“For work.”
“Then consider this a change in working conditions.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“So is paying a criminal interest rate on someone else’s gambling debt.”
Vincent and Charmian stared at each other.
Aleandro finally spoke.
“She has a point about Tommy.”
Vincent looked at him.
Aleandro cleared his throat.
“If the Petrovs realize we’re interfering, they may use the brother.”
“Find him first.”
“We’re working on it.”
Charmian looked between them.
“You’re really doing this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent answered immediately.
“Because they touched someone under my roof.”
“I’m a maid.”
“That keeps being said like it changes something.”
“It should.”
“Why?”
Charmian had no answer.
Vincent leaned against the desk.
“What happened to your mother?”
The question surprised her.
“She died.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask?”
“What happened afterward?”
Charmian’s eyes hardened.
“Foster homes.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Vincent had read the number.
He wanted to hear her say it.
“Tommy stayed with you?”
“When he could.”
“Protected you?”
“He tried.”
“He’s doing a poor job now.”
Charmian looked away.
“He wasn’t always like this.”
Vincent waited.
“After Mom died, Tommy became… angry. He started fighting. Then gambling. He always thought one big win would fix everything.”
“And did it?”
“No.”
“Yet you’re destroying your future trying to fix his mistakes.”
Charmian’s eyes filled with tears.
“He’s all I have.”
Vincent looked around the enormous office.
For the first time in years, the room felt strangely empty.
He understood having people around you and still having nobody.
He understood loyalty that survived long after someone stopped deserving it.
Perhaps that was why Charmian’s refusal to abandon Tommy annoyed him.
Because some part of him respected it.
“Not anymore,” Vincent said quietly.
Charmian frowned.
“What?”
“You’re not alone anymore.”
She stared at him.
Vincent immediately regretted how personal the sentence sounded.
He straightened.
“You work for the Costa organization. That has consequences.”
Charmian gave a humorless laugh.
“I’m beginning to notice.”
A phone vibrated.
Her phone.
She looked down.
The color vanished from her face.
Vincent saw the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Charmian did not move.
The vibration stopped.
Then immediately began again.
Vincent held out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Charmian.”
“They’ll know.”
“That is the purpose.”
Her breathing accelerated.
Vincent took one step closer.
This time she did not move away.
Slowly, she placed the phone in his hand.
Vincent answered.
He said nothing.
A male voice spoke first.
“Little maid. You’re late.”
Vincent’s face became completely expressionless.
The man continued.
“You were supposed to be at the Riverside warehouse twenty minutes ago. Anton doesn’t like waiting.”
Vincent glanced at Charmian.
She looked terrified.
The voice laughed.
“Maybe we need another conversation like Friday.”
Vincent finally spoke.
“You won’t be having any more conversations with her.”
Silence.
“Who is this?”
“Vincent Costa.”
The silence became absolute.
Aleandro’s eyebrows rose.
Vincent continued calmly.
“Tell Anton Petrov the debt is frozen.”
The man on the other end stammered.
“Mr. Costa, we didn’t realize—”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“You didn’t.”
He looked directly at Charmian.
“And tell him I want a meeting tonight.”
Vincent ended the call.
Charmian stared at him.
“What did you just do?”
Vincent handed her phone back.
“What should have been done before you ever had to wash blood out of your shirt.”
Charmian’s voice became barely audible.
“They’re going to come for me.”
Vincent’s gaze shifted toward the security cameras outside his office.
“No.”
His expression became frighteningly calm.
“They’re going to come to me.”
May you like
And that evening, for the first time since the Petrovs had dragged Charmian into their world, she would discover exactly what it meant to stand behind Vincent Costa instead of standing alone.
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