Chapter 4 Through The Cracks

• MALIA
• I waited a minute longer, looking around to see if anyone else was around who could sneak up from behind before retracing my steps. The meeting with the stranger made me more anxious. That I was not good at sneaking was made bluntly evident when someone appeared behind me, without me realizing it. What had felt like a reckless curiosity only moments ago now felt far more dangerous.
• Swallowing the lump that kept building in my throat, I sneaked back, staying low, and ducking behind cars.
• The factory lot stretched out before me, and I spotted some old barrels behind which I could hide. Their stench of stale oil reached me at the entrance. My breath came in shallow bursts, while I kept my eyes out for the guards, but there were none. The guards who had been stationed near the buildings were gone without a trace, and while a part of me wanted to believe it was pure luck, another part whispered that this couldn’t be a coincidence.
• Still, I couldn't afford to waste the opening.
• I crossed the broken pavement in a haze until I reached the edge of the main building. The first door I tried didn’t budge, and I cursed under my breath, so much for the luck being on my side. I clenched my jaw and backed away, scanning for any sign of another entrance. That’s when I noticed a narrow passage between two sections of the structure—just a sliver of space between the old brick walls, barely wide enough for a body to slide through.
• But before I could think twice, voices echoed around the corner, growing louder with each step.
• I darted toward the narrow gap and squeezed in sideways. The air inside the passage was stale and clung to my throat, too tight to breathe properly. My heart thundered as two men passed by, just inches from where I stood. I couldn't see them, only hear the faint murmur of their conversation while I was holding my breath not to be discovered.
• They didn’t notice me.
• I stayed pressed between the walls long after their voices faded, waiting for the tension to uncoil just enough for me to move again. The narrow space eventually widened, but a fence blocked the way to what appeared to be a back lot. I was caged, but I needed to find my father. The ominous feeling I had about him attending a meeting in such a place sent a shiver of panic through me. I was afraid it could escalate beyond what he could talk his way out of.
• That’s when I heard his voice floating through the air—strained, pleading, and thick with desperation. I followed the sound, creeping along the side of the building until I reached a narrow wall with a small, broken window just above eye level. I rose onto my toes and pressed myself against the cold brick, angling my ear upward until I could make out the words.
• “Please, Don. I beg of you,” my father said, his voice trembling like brittle glass. “My daughter needed something for school. That’s why I missed the payment. I didn’t mean—”
• A sharp crack cut through the air, followed by a low grunt of pain. I flinched, and my heart tumbled in my chest.
• That was his excuse?
• Even I could tell it was a lie. A flimsy, pathetic one. The silence that followed felt colder than the wind brushing against my back. But did he say “Don”? As the leader of the Mafia? Sweat started to build on my skin as I thought about the danger this single word brought with it. Fuck, what kind of trouble did my father get into?
• Another voice responded, deeper and more composed. There was no yelling, no swearing, just a calm edge that sent shivers crawling down my spine, since I could imagine who the voice belonged to.
• “You’re not very good at this, Owen. I’m starting to think you want to be made an example of.”
• The next sound was worse than the first.
• My stomach flipped, and I stepped back from the wall, every instinct screaming to run away. But I knew that instead, I needed to get inside. I needed to find him and stop this. And I needed to understand what kind of mess he’d buried us in.
• Something soft rubbed against my legs, winding between them, the cat from before. I startled and caught my foot on a protruding piece of metal hidden beneath weeds.
• The cat yowled and bolted as I crashed to the ground.
• Pain ripped through my side, hot and immediate. I gasped, one hand flying to the source, only to feel the wet warmth of blood between my fingers. I’d landed against a rusted beam, and something sharp—probably a nail—had torn straight through the fabric and into my skin. Gravel had bit into my palms, and I could already feel the large bruise forming on my upper arm, where it had collided with the beam.
• For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Then adrenaline surged, and I shoved myself upright, clutching the tear beneath my ribs with one hand as I scanned the side of the building for another entrance. The window above me was too high. The door nearby was locked. I moved forward, trying to ignore the sharp sting in every movement.
• Then I saw it—a second window, smaller, closer to the ground, and it was cracked open, just enough.
• I didn’t hesitate.
• Dragging myself forward, I gritted my teeth and hoisted myself up. My jeans snagged on the frame, ripping open on the sides. I bit back a curse, forcing my body through the tight opening. I landed on the other side with a thud, my eyes darting around in a panic. This entrance was not graceful, but silent enough, because nobody was rushing for her.
• I pressed myself into the shadows, wiping my bloody hand against the fabric of my jeans. My side throbbed in time with my pulse, but I pushed forward anyway, guided by the echo of voices bleeding through the open gaps in the structure.
• I heard that man’s voice again. The one I believed belonged to the Don.
• “I’m not heartless,” he said slowly. “But I do expect honesty. And people get one chance in this world, Owen. You know that. One, no more. You have forfeited this chance.”
• That voice… It wasn’t just cold, but ice in my veins, and it felt strangely familiar.
• Like something I’d heard in a distant memory I couldn’t place. It was distant and blurred, but lingering somewhere in the depths of my subconscious.
• I crept closer, using the dusty walls to steady myself, and ducked behind stacked crates and broken machinery, right next to where the voices came from. Finally, I had a clear view of what was happening.