The weight of what almost happened pressed heavier than the glass shards glittering at our feet.
I turned away first.
Chapter 11
Tessa
Ireally wished I hadn’t walked down to the living room that night. Seeing Felix like that made me think he might actually have a heart hidden beneath the danger, and somehow, that scared me more than he ever had.
I scrubbed the floorboards harder. Stupid Felix. Why was I letting myself believe he was complicated, when I should already know exactly what kind of man he was? Beneath all the danger, he was just the type who used girls and discarded them, like they were disposable.
The bristles scraped against the wood until my arms ached, but it still wasn’t enough. Nothing I did ever was. No amount of scrubbing would erase the fact that I’d let him get under my skin. That I’d looked at him—really looked—and thought there was more to see than the danger, the violence, the lies. I hated myself for it, hated that a single glimpse of humanity in him had me questioning everything I thought I knew.
I pressed one floorboard particularly hard and it sprung up. Of course it did. It was an old piece of shit, just like everything else in this house.
Felix would probably ask me to replace the floors after I had finished cleaning. I rolled my eyes, shoving the board back into place—but it didn’t go all the way. There was a small gap, and a flash of metal tucked into the dark space of the wood caught my attention.
“Huh,” I said, kneeling to get a better look. I tilted the board just enough to slip my hand underneath, and for a moment, I thought I’d imagined it.
My fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. I pulled out a pocketwatch, its surface scratched and dulled with age, and strangely heavy in my hand.
It looked odd, to say the least. The watch was covered in symbols I didn’t recognize. Not that I considered myself the most educated person in the world. My father only drove me to school about half the time when I was younger, and the rest of the lessons seemed to have been lost somewhere between his anger and my stubbornness.
Still, there was something about the engravings that felt deliberate, like they were meant for someone who would notice. I tried popping it open. It didn’t budge. I tried again, but still no luck. Whatever. I put it aside in the “keep” pile, because it looked really expensive.
Even as I went back to scrubbing, my mind kept drifting to it. Who had left this here? And why did it feel like it didn’t just belong under a floorboard in some rundown house?
I shook my head, as if the physical action would remove the thoughts. That wasn’t my problem. I was just here to clean and hopefully not get my organs removed or end up on a stage when I was finished.
But then my stomach tightened with worry for my father. He wouldn’t be searching for me—he was too much of a drunk for that—but who was making sure he ate? Or that he didn’t pass out somewhere and hurt himself? Guilt gnawed at me for leaving him behind, even if I had no choice. I forced myself to focus on the scrubbing, but the thought of him lingered, a low, persistent weight pressing against my chest.
I’d thought about testing an escape route, just for a second, imagining what it would be like to bolt out the door and run straight to my father. But I wouldn’t actually do it. Felix had warned me about the security system, and he wasn’t lying. Cameras, sensors, alarms—I knew I’d never get more than a few steps before it all went off. My chest tightened further, caught between the helpless worry for my father and the cold reality that there was no way out.
The sound of the front door clicking shut froze me mid-scrub. Footsteps followed, deliberate and slow, echoing through the hallway. My stomach lurched. He was home.
“You’re early,” I said, driving the scrub brush harder into the floor.
There was a pause behind me, the kind that made the air feel heavier. Then his voice—low, smooth, and just a little dangerous—answered from the doorway. “Mhm.”
I didn’t look up. My hands ached from scrubbing, and my chest felt tight, but I kept my eyes on the worn boards beneath me. “Thought you’d be later,” I said, forcing the words out like they weren’t trembling in my throat.
A slow step, then another. The air shifted, heavier now, like the room itself was waiting. I could feel him there without seeing him, and for a brief, infuriating moment, I hated how much that made my stomach twist.
“I thought we could go on a little errand,” he said.
That caught my attention. I had felt like I was going insane, trapped like a prisoner in this messy house. My head snapped around to look at him, and there he was—leaning against the doorway, casual and dangerous all at once, like he owned every inch of the room.
His eyes met mine, sharp and unreadable, and my stomach did that stupid flip it always did when he looked at me that way. “An errand?”
Felix smirked, slow and deliberate, and took a step closer. The scrape of the floorboards under his boots made my heart jump. “Unless you don’t want to come.”
“I’ll go,” I blurted out. Which was quite foolish of me, agreeing to go to an unknown place with a man in the mafia.
I stood up and brushed the dust from my knees, forcing myself to ignore the tight knot of fear coiling in my stomach. My hands still trembled slightly, though I tried to hide it. The scrub brush felt heavy in my grip, a small anchor to reality.
He stepped closer, hand coming up to tilt my chin, fingers grazing my lips just enough to make me shiver. His eyes darkened, and his tone was a dangerous whisper. “I’d hate to see what happens if you try to run or make a scene,” he said, the words teasing, but the threat behind them strong enough to make my pulse spike.
I lifted my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. “I know what happens,” I said, voice clipped. “And I’m not planning to test it.”
