Chapter 1
“Start over.”
Helena’s voice cracked through the garage like a whip.
“If you clean badly, you go hungry.”
I had just stepped through the side entrance when she kicked the bucket over.
Gray water spread across the concrete.
My three-year-old son, Leo, flinched so hard his whole body folded inward.
He was kneeling beside Helena’s white luxury car.
His shirt was torn.
His little hands were red from cold water.
A filthy cleaning cloth lay against his knees.
Helena bent down and shoved it back into his fingers.
“Pick it up.”
Leo whispered, “I’m tired.”
She grabbed his wrist.
“You scratched my car. You work off your debt.”
Debt.
My son was three.
I stood in the shadow of the doorway and felt something colder than anger move through me.
I had returned early from Boston.
No one knew.
Not Helena.
Not the guards.
Not even my driver, because I had switched cars two blocks away after a meeting felt wrong.
Now I understood why instinct had dragged me home.
Leo saw me first.
His eyes widened.
“Papa.”
Helena froze.
Slowly, she turned.
Her face changed.
“Carmine.”
I walked toward them.
Every step echoed.
Leo tried to stand, but his legs shook.
I picked him up before he could fall.
He clung to my neck with wet hands.
“What happened to his clothes?”
Helena laughed nervously.
“He spilled water. Don’t be dramatic.”
I looked at the bucket.
The cloth.
The red marks on my son’s fingers.
“You made him clean your car?”
“He scratched it.”
“He is three.”
“He needs discipline.”
I shifted Leo behind my shoulder and stepped closer.
Helena lifted her chin.
“You spoil him because his mother died.”
The garage went silent.
Even the guards at the door stopped breathing.
I slapped Helena once.
Open hand.
Controlled.
Enough to make her stumble away from my child.
“You do not speak of Sofia while standing over my son.”
Her hand flew to her cheek.
“You hit me?”
“You touched my boy.”
I took the key fob from her trembling hand.
She reached for it.
I closed my fist.
“Now it is not your car anymore.”
Her eyes filled with fear.
Not shame.
Fear.
That told me the car mattered more to her than the child crying into my coat.
I looked at my head guard.
“Lock the garage.”
Helena whispered, “Carmine, please.”
I stared at her.
“What else did you do when I was not home?”
Leo lifted his head.
His voice was small.
“She makes me sleep where the tires are.”
May you like
Helena went pale.
And I knew the car was only the beginning.
