Page 5

But Joseph Meadows has been stealing my money, and he has to pay. It also sends a message to my capos that I can only be pushed so far before I react.

I don't enjoy what happens next, but I don't dread it either. I made peace with it the day I inherited this world. I ensure it stays standing by doing the ugly things that need doing, with nothing more than cold acceptance. The men who enjoy it get sloppy. The men who dread it get dead.

"Why do you need me there? You know I'm decorative."

"Because you'll be watching his face, reading him. Seven hundred thousand walked out of my casino while a Russian is buying my waterfront. I want to know if Joseph Meadows is a thief or an employee."

He holds my gaze and then curses under his breath. Like everyone else, he knows my word is final.

I open my office door.

"Fine." He stands and walks toward the door, then points at his shoes. "But if you get blood on these, you're buying me new ones."

3

SUNNY

Final Notice. I stare at the number printed in bold red at the top of the page, then set it aside and pick up the next envelope. Water. Overdue. The one beneath it. Insurance. Overdue. And beneath that, more of Mom’s medical bills demanding payment.

I pull my hair into a messy bun and blow out a long breath.

I’m in the back room of the house I share with my dad, and spread out in front of me is the irrefutable proof that we are drowning under a mountain of debt.

We shouldn’t be. After all, my dad’s accounting practice is wildly successful.

Well, it used to be.

Before his grief got on top of him.

Before he discovered gambling.

I pick up the bank letter and tear it open. My stomach drops when I read the amount owed on the mortgage. Three months behind. Three. I set it down, defeated and completely worn down.

Leaning my elbows on the desk in front of me, I pinch my nose and inhale a deep breath in an attempt to control another surge of overwhelm taking over me.

If we lose the house, we don't just lose four walls. We lose the last room my mom laughed in. We lose the last place she told us she loved us. We lose the smell of her that I swear still lingers in some of her favorite rooms.

Dad used to be meticulous with money. But then Mom got sick, and that version of him started to disappear.

When Mom died, he fell apart and turned to the casinos for solace.

Now six months later, all their savings are gone. That’s why I’ve taken over paying the bills. But there is never enough to make ends meet. I don’t make a lot of money at the coffee shop, and Dad has been taking on fewer and fewer clients.

To make matters worse, something is off with him lately, more than usual. He's been nervous and distracted, and when I ask him about it, he waves me off with a tired smile. If I press, he withdraws into himself.

Sometimes, I want to scream at him. I want to grab him by the collar and say I lost her, too, Dad. I was there, too. You don't get to be the only one drowning. But I don’t. Because I know he’s sick. And I know if he had the strength, he would try to save us.

I rub the nape of my neck. There’s a knot there that never leaves.

As I stare at the insurance notice, trying to figure out which bill I can push another month without consequences, I hear the sudden noise of raised voices coming from my dad’s home office.

Unease curls in my stomach as I listen because I can immediately hear the alarm in my dad’s voice.

I push back from the desk and move toward the door. The voices are clearer now. Dad's voice is raised, and I can hear the fear in it.

Feeling uneasy in the pit of my stomach, I make my way down the hallway and into my dad’s office in the front room.

Dad is standing behind his desk, his face drained of color, and his hands gripping the edge so hard his knuckles have gone white.