Chapter 5

• Lana
• I keep telling myself that no loan shark is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, ready to break my knees, as I climb up with a tray piled high with spaghetti and meatballs. My arms are already shaking. Thank God for Mrs. Moretti. She doesn’t like my dad much, so I had to lie and swear the food was only for me. Just me. No sharing.
• I stop on the last step and peek around the corner. My heart is loud in my ears. The hallway is empty. No strangers. No shadows. Nothing. I let out a slow breath and feel stupid for being this jumpy. So Dad owed twenty-five grand to some mystery group. That didn’t mean we were about to be killed, right? People owed money all the time. They didn’t just disappear.
• I walk down the hallway, careful and quiet. Then I see something on the floor in front of our door.
• A book.
• I freeze, then rush the last few steps, my pulse kicking up hard. It’s big. Heavy. Way too familiar. There’s a post-it stuck to the front.
• How did Xander manage to save it from the subway? I should be grateful, but it never would’ve ended up on the tracks if that asshole hadn’t thrown it in the first place, all because he was jealous and angry and couldn’t control himself.
• I lower the tray of pasta to the floor, slow and careful, and almost crush the note in my hand. Then I really look at it. The writing is smooth. Neat. Calm. Not his. I’d know Xander’s messy scrawl anywhere.
• I bend closer and read it.
• You forgot something when you ran off without thanking me.
• A laugh slips out before I can stop it. It surprises me. I turn the note over, looking for a name. There isn’t one. Just a rough little drawing. A crown, maybe. For someone with such clean handwriting, the guy couldn’t draw to save his life.
• I lift the book and press it to my chest, note and all. The smell hits me right away. New pages. Fresh ink. He didn’t just pull it off the tracks before it got destroyed. He bought me a brand-new copy.
• That wasn’t nothing. These textbooks cost a fortune.
• “If you wanted a thank-you,” I mutter to the empty hall, “you could’ve at least left your name.”
• Great. Now I’m talking to myself. Dad’s gambling mess is officially getting to my head.
• I don’t have enough hands to manage the book and the food, so I kick the door lightly with my foot.
• I hear the peephole squeak open just before the door swings wide. Dad’s eyes are huge. Too alert. He scans the hallway like he expects someone to jump out at him. When he sees nothing, he lets out a shaky breath.
• That tells me everything. Whatever hole he dug, it’s deep.
• Before I can say a word, he grabs the tray from my hands and rushes back inside. He either doesn’t notice the giant book or doesn’t care. Probably doesn’t care.
• “Save me some,” I call after him as he disappears into the kitchenette.
• Mrs. Moretti’s spaghetti and meatballs are almost as good as Mom’s. Or at least as good as I remember Mom’s. That memory feels fuzzy now.
• I head into my bedroom, which is really the living room with a cheap wall stuck in place so I can pretend I have privacy. Not that it matters. I’d never bring a guy home anyway. After Xander, I was done. Completely done. Men weren’t worth the damage.
• Maybe the sun-baked surfers in Florida would be different. I can hope.
• I drop the new textbook on my desk in the corner and breathe out hard. Just over a month left of school. That’s it. I’ll work at Mrs. Moretti’s all summer. Save every dollar. Then I’m gone.
• I’m not giving Dad a single cent of my savings. Not for gambling. Not for debt. Not for anything.
• After running into Xander today, something in me snapped. Even if I don’t get into the University of Coral Bay, I’m leaving. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
• “Shit.”
• Dad’s voice yanks me right back to reality.
• I hurry out and find him standing there with a mouth full of spaghetti, staring at his old flip phone like it just delivered a death sentence.
• “What’s wrong?” I ask, though I already know.
• “We’re fucked. That’s what.”
• The edge in his voice makes my head jerk back. He swears when he drinks, sure, but this is different. His eyes are clear. Too clear.
• He swallows, drags a hand over his thinning hair, and paces the short length of the apartment. “Danny screwed me. Big time.”
• “What does that mean?” I ask. Danny was a bookie. Screwing people was the job.
• He looks at me for half a second, then drops his gaze to the floor. “That free money. That sure thing. It came from the Golden Phoenix.”
• No.
• My stomach drops fast. Nausea crawls up my throat. No, no, no. Out of every lowlife group in Manhattan, my dad had to owe money to my ex and the Chinese Triad.
• A cold thought cuts through the panic. Had Xander planned this? Was this some twisted move to trap me? To force his way back into my life?
• I snatch the phone from the counter and shove it into Dad’s hand. “Call Danny. Ask him if Xander Chen had anything to do with this.”
• He stares at the phone like it might explode. “What are you talking about, Lana?”
• I don’t tell my dad much. He’s either drunk or too checked out to remember. He knew I dated Xander. He knew it ended. That was it. He didn’t know I was one step away from filing for a restraining order. He didn’t know about the weeks of messages. The showing up. The pressure.
• Today was the last straw.
• I didn’t care if the Golden Phoenix came after me. I could handle myself. But now Dad was tied to them too.
• “Xander,” I say flatly. “The guy I dated. He’s been trying to get me back since we broke up. I wouldn’t put this past him.”
• He latches onto that like a lifeline. Hope flickers in his eyes. “Then this is good. He’s one of their leaders, right? You can talk to him. Work something out.”
• “No,” I snap. Hard. Final.
• It took me almost a year to crawl out of that relationship. Xander was jealous. Controlling. Cruel. He hurt me in ways I didn’t even recognize at first. It took hours of online therapy to understand that what we had wasn’t normal.
• That’s what growing up with my dad did to me. It taught me to accept damage and call it love.
• And I am not going back. Not for him. Not for Dad. Not for anyone.