The Revenge He Regretted

Chapter 5

POV: Isabella Moretti

By the time I arrived at the cargo terminal the following morning, I had already checked my phone four times for a response to my request.

There was nothing.

I slipped the phone into my bag and headed toward the staff office, trying to convince myself that the absence of a reply did not mean anything. The scheduling team had other responsibilities. They could not be expected to answer every message immediately.

Still, I needed those hours.

Seven days had seemed like enough time when the hospital first mentioned the deadline. Now every passing hour felt like something being taken away from me.

I found Marco Bellini, the shift supervisor, reviewing the schedule at his desk.

“Good morning,” I said.

He glanced up. “Morning, Isabella. What is it?”

“I wanted to follow up on my message about additional shifts. I am available to work longer hours this week, including weekends. If there are any extra duties that need covering, I would be willing to take them.”

Marco looked at the schedule.

“We have a few gaps in the cargo operations roster. Someone called in sick, and there is an additional evening shift that still needs coverage.”

My heart lifted.

“I can take both.”

“Both?”

“Yes.”

He studied me briefly. “That would mean a long day, especially with your current assignment.”

“I understand.”

“You will be doing physical handling support alongside the documentation checks. You will need to report earlier for the evening shift, and the additional hours will be recorded separately.”

“That is fine.”

Marco turned the schedule toward himself again.

“I cannot promise you more than the hours available. There are limits to what we can approve, and the payroll cut-off is already approaching. Any hours that miss this cycle will be paid in the next one.”

I heard the warning, but I focused on what he could offer me now.

“How many hours can I get this week?”

He checked the roster and gave me the details.

It was less than I had hoped for, but it was more than I had yesterday.

“I will take them,” I said.

“Are you sure? You look exhausted.”

“I am fine.”

It was becoming the answer I gave everyone, regardless of the question.

Marco entered my name beside the available shifts.

“All right. Report to the loading area first. We will sort out the remaining hours later.”

“Thank you.”

I left the office feeling almost hopeful.

It was not enough to solve everything, but it was a beginning. If I worked every available hour and kept my spending to a minimum, I might at least reduce the amount I needed to find elsewhere.

For the first time since my father had refused to help me, I had something concrete to work with.

I intended to make every hour count.

---

The loading area was already busy when I arrived.

Workers moved between the marked lanes, checking labels and coordinating the movement of cargo. I collected my gloves and the necessary paperwork before joining the team assigned to the incoming shipment.

My duties had changed considerably since Adrian’s conviction.

I was still employed as a junior cargo officer, but the work I had once done with greater responsibility had gradually been replaced by assignments that demanded more physical effort and offered fewer opportunities to advance. I spent more time checking consignments on the floor, assisting with loading arrangements, and correcting discrepancies that others had left behind.

I had learned not to ask when things would change.

That morning, I was checking a set of labels when I noticed a woman approaching from the other side of the loading bay.

Vanessa Romano.

My shoulders tightened before I could stop them.

She had a way of making an ordinary shift feel like an examination I had never agreed to take. Whenever she found me working, there was usually something wrong with what I was doing, how I was doing it, or how long I was taking.

I had tried ignoring her. I had tried answering politely. I had even tried asking her directly what she wanted from me.

None of it had made much difference.

Vanessa stopped beside the consignment I was checking.

“You are still working on that?”

I looked at the labels. “I am verifying the shipment details against the manifest.”

“I can see that. I am asking why it is taking so long.”

“There is a discrepancy between two entries. I am checking which one is correct before the cargo is cleared.”

She leaned forward to inspect the paperwork.

“Then you should have identified it earlier.”

“I only received the documents a few minutes ago.”

Vanessa gave me a thin smile.

“Excuses do not move cargo, Isabella.”

I felt the familiar irritation rise in my chest.

The discrepancy was not my fault. I had followed the procedure, and I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do. Yet explaining that to Vanessa would only give her another opportunity to prolong the conversation.

I returned my attention to the paperwork.

“I will complete the verification as soon as I confirm the entry.”

“See that you do.”

She turned away, then paused.

“And when you are finished, the next consignment needs checking. The team is behind.”

I glanced at the stack of documents beside me.

“I have an additional assignment scheduled after this.”

“Then you had better learn to manage your time.”

She walked away before I could respond.

I stared after her for a moment.

There had been a time when I would have challenged her. I would have pointed out that I could not complete two assignments simultaneously and that she had no reason to speak to me as though I were incompetent.

But I could not afford another complaint about my attitude. I could not afford to jeopardise the additional hours I had just secured.

So I lowered my eyes to the manifest and continued working.

The labels still needed checking. The cargo still needed clearing. And my mother still had six days.

I had more important things to worry about than Vanessa Romano.

At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

By midday, my wrist had begun to ache.

I adjusted my grip on the paperwork and moved to the next section of the shipment. The work required repeated lifting, checking, and moving between the loading area and the documentation station. Each time I finished one task, another seemed to appear.

I took no proper break beyond a few minutes to drink water.

When I checked the time, I realised I had already spent longer on the first assignment than I had expected.

I could not afford to fall behind.

I finished the verification, submitted the corrected documentation, and moved to the next consignment. The discrepancy had been resolved, but the delay meant I had less time for the remaining work.

Vanessa appeared again shortly afterward.

“Why has this not been completed?”

“I have just finished the previous shipment. I am starting this one now.”

“You were told that the team was behind.”

“And I have been working on it.”

Her expression sharpened.

“Do not take that tone with me.”

I took a slow breath.

“I am not. I am explaining what has been done.”

She glanced at the paperwork in my hands.

“Then explain why this section is incomplete.”

“Because I have not finished checking it.”

“Unbelievable.”

She placed another folder on the table beside me.

“This needs to be reviewed as well. Make sure you do not repeat the mistakes from the earlier consignment.”

I looked at the new folder, then back at her.

“I have already corrected the earlier discrepancy.”

“Then you should have no trouble handling this one.”

She walked away.

For several seconds, I remained still.

I wanted to follow her and demand that she stop treating every interaction as an opportunity to humiliate me. I wanted to tell her that I had accepted additional work because I needed the money, not because I had suddenly acquired the ability to perform three people’s duties at once.

Instead, I opened the new folder.

I had learned that sometimes survival meant refusing to spend your strength on a fight you could not afford.

I checked the documents carefully, completed the required entries, and moved on to the next task.

By the time my scheduled hours ended, I had barely noticed how tired I was until I tried to straighten my back.

My muscles protested. My wrist throbbed, and my feet ached inside my work shoes.

But I still had the evening shift.

I washed my hands, drank some water, and returned to the loading area.

The additional work had to count for something.

It had to.

**

The shift ended later than I had expected.

I collected my bag and sat on a bench near the staff exit, too tired to begin the journey home immediately. For a few moments, I simply stared at the floor and listened to the distant sounds of the terminal winding down.

Then I remembered the hospital bill.

I opened my banking application and checked my balance. I calculated what I had already earned, what I could reasonably save, and what the additional hours might add to my next payment.

The result was disappointing.

Even if every extra hour was approved, the money would not cover the entire outstanding amount. Worse, Marco had warned me that some hours might fall after the payroll cut-off.

That meant part of the money I was working so hard to earn might not arrive until after the hospital deadline.

I checked the roster again, hoping I had misunderstood.

I had not.

I could work until I could barely stand and still find myself waiting for money that would arrive too late.

My phone felt heavy in my hand.

I thought about calling my father again, but I already knew what he would say. I thought about asking someone to lend me the full amount, but I could not think of anyone who could guarantee that much money at such short notice.

And then, despite my determination to avoid the thought, Adrian came to mind.

I immediately locked my phone.

No.

I was not ready to ask him for help. I could not predict what he would say, and I had no intention of placing myself at his mercy unless every other possibility had failed.

There had to be another way.

I stood, gathered my things, and headed for the exit.

I had spent the entire day working extra hours, enduring Vanessa's criticism, and pushing through pain because I believed effort would bring me closer to my goal.

Yet the distance between what I had and what my mother needed remained painfully wide.

I would have to find another option.

And with every hour that passed, I was running out of time to find one.