Page 3

Helena

The tension is tangible between my father and the tall, handsome man in a suit standing on our front porch. I can't help but notice the intimidating men standing behind him, but my attention keeps returning to the man whose gaze is fixed on mine.

He is handsome. Perhaps the most handsome man I have ever seen outside of a film. His dark hair is neatly styled, giving him a polished and sophisticated look. That, and the dark suit which accentuates his massive build and carries an air of elegance about him. Everything about him seems put together but what draws me in are those deep brown eyes fixed on mine.

They are cold and almost… empty. I think I see a sliver of something in them before it quickly disappears.

“Go back inside, Helena!” my father’s panicked voice snaps my focus away from the man and to him. “I’ll talk to these nice men and then…”

I shake my head at him. "If they are so nice, why does he have a gun strapped to his side and, why do you look so scared of him?" I whisper, my eyes shooting to the gun the man is not even making an effort to hide.

“Oh, this?” he drawls, his eyes following mine to the piece on his side. “Don’t worry about this. I rarely ever get to use it.”

His voice, it’s deep and empty too. There isn’t a hint of warmth in it and maybe I am projecting seeing how cold it is today. It always gets this cold around Christmas and with the door open, I start to feel the full effect of it. Despite this, I don’t retreat into the house as my father clearly wants me to. It’s also evident that he won’t tell me who these men are, so I decide to get what I need directly from the source.

“Who are you?”

The man lets go of the hold he has on the door and takes a step back, taking an easier stance. “Fabian Lorenzo,” he says and my bones chill at the mention of his name.

“F–Fabian?”

“I see you’ve heard of me.”

Everyone has heard of this man! The infamous Fabian Lorenzo is the heir to his Italian family crime organization which masquerades as a business organization. Oh, they do business alright but not the legal kind. And even their legal businesses tether a little too close to being illegal. The Lorenzo family is the most feared in Moth Hill and has been for the last fifty years.

Fabian Lorenzo has been the face, or in this case, the new name behind the family. Mere residents like us have never had the displeasure of meeting the man in person. Most people say he is more dangerous than his murderous father. This man doesn’t just beat you up and leave you begging for your life, he’s much worse.

He strips you of everything including the will to live. If the rumors are to be believed, Fabian views people as numbers. Mere dollar signs to him and nothing more.

That very man is outside my door right now. Watching me with eyes that look like they could belong to some wild animal in the Amazon jungle. There is nothing human about them. They are too empty to be.

“W–what do you want?” I whisper, placing a protective hand on my father’s tense shoulder and eyeing the gun. “Why are you here?”

“Your father knows why!”

“No, you tell me,” I say firmly, not trusting my dad to tell me the truth. Minutes ago, he tried so hard to hide this man from me and I want to know why.

“Mr. Jerkins–”

Dad quickly shakes his head. “No,” he whispers, sounding more scared than I have ever heard him. Even more scared than when he heard that he would never walk again. Back then, he flashed me a smile and made some joke about being able to park in the handicap spot. That was a scary moment for both of us but this time, he looks even more scared than he did back then. “Please don’t involve my daughter in this. Take me if you need to talk but please leave her out of this.”

"Take you? Are you out of your mind Dad?" I splutter. "It's freezing and you know how much worse you feel when it's cold."

“Don’t listen to her, just take me and we can talk about this in another location.”

"No, Dad! I need to know what is happening."

Someone clears their voice and I look up to find those blank eyes fixed on us once more. “Touching. Heartwarming, really,” Fabian says, not a shred of warmth or feeling in his tone. “I would love to stand here all day in this freezing cold and watch this heartwarming moment, but I have several places I need to be so let’s be quick!” I watch the man slide a hand into his coat and come up with a small book. He flips a few pages before turning the book for us to see. “One hundred thousand dollars with an interest of $30,000. You were due two months ago, but you kept pushing it. I’m here to collect!”

My heart nearly stops.

I must’ve heard him wrong. Did this man just say over $100,000? My eyes drop to the book he’s still holding and I palm my mouth when I see my father’s signature. I always teased him about it and how complicated it was for someone to ever copy and yet, these men did.

They forged my father's signature and are now accusing him of borrowing one hundred thousand dollars? From a crime group? My father would never do something so dumb.

“After the scene you two put on today, I am willing to part with the interest and collect the rest at a later date.”

I wait for my father to stop him, laugh at this man, and swear to get him arrested for fraud but instead, he drops his head and the tension in his shoulders stays.

“It’s fake,” I whisper, meeting the man’s gaze. “My father would never borrow money from you let alone this much. He won’t admit it because you have a gun–”

“That I never use,” he says firmly.

“What?”

“The gun you keep glancing at, I don’t use it unless I need to. This situation is not one that I need my gun for.”

I shake my head, trying to stay on course. “Look, Mr. Lorenzo, my father did not borrow that money. Maybe you got him confused with someone else, but this is not who my father is. He doesn’t associate with…” My voice trails over and I flush, unwilling to upset these men. They might be calm now but there is no telling what they will do when mad. “This is fake.” I finish weakly.

“I have no time for this,” the man grinds, showing the first hint of impatience. “Mr. Jerkins, if you have the money then you better hand it now but if not, I want the deed to this house. Quite frankly, I don’t know why my father didn’t fucking take it in the first place for security.”

“What, no!” I cry out, shaking my head. “This was my mother’s house. It’s the only thing I have left of her.”

“It’s that, or the money,” he says and if possible, his eyes harden further. “I want your cooperation, or my men will tear this place apart until they find the deed.”

So, it seems that the rumors are true about this man seeing people as nothing more than numbers. It's evident that they weren't lying about that, but there's something else. I saw a glimmer of life in his cold, empty eyes earlier, and I want to appeal to that part of him. No matter how faint that spark was, I want to reach out to it before this man destroys the one thing my mother left us.

I notice the men behind Fabian take a step forward and I raise my hand to stop them. "Wait, please," I plead with the man. "I… can I talk to you for a second? Alone, please?"

Fabian nods once and his men stop, those dark eyes firmly fixed on mine. I fight the shudder that wracks my body and the heat that drops to my tummy the longer those eyes stay on me. I’m almost sure he’s not going to allow me a private moment, but he surprises me by nodding. “Wait in the car,” the men behind him back away and climb into the black van parked outside our home.

"Dad, you should wait inside too," I say, grabbing the back of his wheelchair and guiding him back into the house. "I'll just talk to him for a moment."

"No, Helena. I don't want you alone with that man," he argues. "You don't know their family!"

“Then why did you borrow money from them?” I ask, holding on to a sliver of hope that he’ll deny it, but he doesn’t. He simply lowers his head and apologizes but I’m not sure what to feel now. I manage our finances and know darn well that we don’t have that kind of money! “I’ll go talk to him.”

He tries to stop me once more, but I insist on going. I grab my coat from the rack and drape it over my shoulders, not bothering to take off the flour-stained apron. I slide into my boots and walk out onto the porch, shutting the door closed behind me. Christ, it's so freaking cold and the news said it was only going to get worse after this.

“Miss Jerkins–”

“Please call me, Helena,” I whisper, sliding my hands into my pocket and stepping up closer to the man. “I prefer it.”

“Helena it is,” he drawls. “Your father owes us a lot of money. I am not leaving here without the house deed or the money.”

“Look, I didn’t know about the money or I would never have let him take it. Now that I think about it, I remember him having money a few months after his accident. We were struggling to pay his medical bills and then out of nowhere, he pointed out that he had money saved and we could use it. I promise you; we used the money for good.”

He seems as moved as I expected him to be. “That changes nothing. I still want the money today. I have already wasted enough time here!”

Right! I knew my sob story wouldn’t change much, but I had to try at least.

"Is there something else you can take instead?" I whisper, shivering when a cold wind blows my way. I notice Fabian stepping directly in front of me, blocking most of the chilly wind with his massive frame. The move sends goosebumps riding up my body and warmth spreading in my chest, and I wonder if he's even realized what he's just done. The feeling lasts for about a second before he ruins it with his next words.

“The money or your home.”

“A couple of weeks,” I hurry to say. “I just need a little time to sell my car. I’m sure there are other things in the house I can sell to come up with at least fifty grand.”

He raises a single brow at me, his patience clearly waning. "Helena."

It's simple, the way he says my name. People always get it wrong, but he doesn't even skip a beat when it slips out of his mouth. It doesn't mean anything. So this man got my name right, and now he's about to ruin my life and take the one thing I have left of my mother: this house and the warmth it carries. The warmth I have tried so hard to preserve.

I would do anything to protect it , to protect my father.

“You see numbers, right? You’ve already estimated my property, but I have something else for you to estimate its value.”

“Is it family jewelry because sentimental value doesn’t count–”

“No,” I shake my head, stepping closer to the man and I catch a whiff of his expensive aftershave with a strong musk and woody scent. He smells so freaking good that it takes me a second to grasp my thoughts and stay on track. “It’s not family jewelry.”

“Then what is it?”

“Me,” I say firmly. “How much do you think I am worth?”