“Mmm?”
“There’s someone at the door.”
“What? Shit, Vera, you must be dreaming. There’s no one at the door.”
“Yes, the doorbell just rang.” I shook Alistair’s arm gently to wake him up fully. I started to panic, wondering if a man like Alistair was in any danger or connected with the mafia. It was no secret that Lester Harbor’s mafia had ties with wealthy citizens and politicians and drove a lucrative underground drug and prostitution ring.
The doorbell chimed again, forcing Alistair out of bed. “I’ll see who it is,” he grumbled, shuffling to his walk-in wardrobe to put on a shirt and sweatpants.
“Shouldn’t you call security?” I asked, getting out of bed.
“Here, you can put these on.” Alistair handed me a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.
“Alistair, can you answer my question?” I stared at him, donning the shirt and shorts.
“No, I don’t need to call security. They run a tight ship, and I’ve got a panic room for worst-case scenarios.”
I ran my fingers through my unkempt hair, then crossed my arms.
“Vera, if anyone is allowed to get past security, it would be my son. That’s who I’m worried about.” Alistair’s eyebrows furrowed, deepening the lines of concern on his forehead. He stalked down the stairs and pressed the screen on the intercom.
“Hello? Dad?” a fragmented voice called out, matching the lanky frame of a boy on the screen.
“Come in, son.” Alistair tapped the screen, triggering the front door to unlock.
Dressed in a dark hoodie and cargo pants, the boy, about ten or eleven years old, sprinted into the living room, hugged his father, then pulled back his hood, revealing blond curls and green eyes.
“Dad,” the boy cried, burying his face in Alistair’s chest.
“Where’s your mother?” Alistair asked, holding his son tightly.
“She’s high, Dad. She’s high as a kite.”
“Again?” Alistair released his son, his face red with fury and his voice shaking. “What happened, Damian?”
“She’s got her lovers at home again. One of the women came into my room and crawled into my bed, Dad. She was naked.”
“Where was your mother?”
“You don’t want to know. I caught a cab here,” the boy replied as he glanced at his father.
Oh, my God. What kind of mother was this woman?I folded my arms and shook my head in disbelief.
“Dad, who is she?” Damian turned toward me, eyes filled with curiosity.
“I’m Vera Richland.” I extended my hand to shake the boy’s hand.
“I’m Damian Scott,” he said, shaking my hand.
“Vera, can you excuse my son and me for a few minutes?” Alistair asked as his face softened.
“Sure, I can leave.”
“Wait, you said your last name is Richland, right?” Damian took one step towards me.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“I know a guy with the same last name. Richland. Yeah, Julian Richland. Hmm, you have the same eyes as him,” Damian said, staring at me.
