I stand, pressing my thighs together. The sweatpants I found last night hang loose on my hips, the t-shirt drowning my frame.Both smell like that same cedar, like they've been waiting in that dresser for someone desperate enough to need them.
Someone like me.
My thumb hovers over the phone keyboard. What do I even say?Please sir, may I use a toilet like a human being?
The door flies open.
I jump back, nearly dropping the phone. Lorenzo fills the doorway, still in the same clothes from last night. His shirt is untucked now, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Dark stubble shadows his jaw.
Does this man not understand how doors work? First last night, now this.
Would it kill him to knock?
"If you need the bathroom and food, we go now." His voice carries no warmth. Just efficiency. "I have to leave in ten minutes."
"I need a bathroom." The words tumble out faster than I intend. "Please."
He nods once, sharp and businesslike. "Follow me."
I trail him into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the hardwood.
We stop at the door directly next to mine. Another bedroom, but this one has an attached bathroom visible through an open door.
"Five minutes," he says, already turning away.
"Wait—"
He pauses but doesn't look back.
"The yelling downstairs. Is everything okay?"
He turns and stares at me for a moment.
"Five minutes," Lorenzo repeats, and walks away.
The bathroom is small but clean. White tiles, basic toiletries, a stack of fresh towels. I take care of business quickly, splash cold water on my face, and stare at my reflection.
You created a mess last night, girl.
When I emerge, Lorenzo stands by the window, checking his phone.
"Coffee? Food?" Lorenzo's words are clipped, efficient.
I nod, my stomach clenching at the thought of food.
"We'll go to the restaurant. Quick stop. Then you come right back up here." He moves toward the door without waiting for my response.
I follow him into the hallway, then down a narrow staircase. The walls are bare, painted some neutral beige that screams temporary space. Not a home. Just rooms above a restaurant where dangerous men conduct business.
My bare feet slap against the cold stairs. Each step takes me further from that locked room, closer to... what? A meal? A moment of normalcy before returning to my cage? At least, this cage is better than my last. For now.
Marina would laugh at this. No—she'd grab my shoulders and shake sense into me.What the hell are you doing, Soph? Running to another mafia family for protection?
Except she knew I was planning to run. Just not to here.
We reach the bottom of the stairs, and Lorenzo pushes through a door marked "Employees Only." The restaurant kitchen spreads before us—all stainless steel and black tile, empty at this early hour.
Marina's probably called me fifty times by now. We've been inseparable since Mrs. Peterson's kindergarten class when she punched Tommy Richardson for pulling my pigtails. Through middle school drama, high school heartbreaks, my mother's diagnosis.
