THE DEBT

Chapter Two: A Beautiful Place to Be Trapped

“Get in.”

I looked at Leôncio, then at the open door of the black SUV.

“You keep saying things like they're going to magically become reasonable.”

His expression barely changed. “We're standing outside an apartment someone broke into.”

“And your solution is kidnapping.”

“Protection.”

“That's a very convenient word.”

From the front passenger seat, Benício cleared his throat.

Leôncio glanced at him. “Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to ask if we're leaving.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Then I remembered the photograph of the black car that had been following me.

I climbed into the SUV.

Leôncio entered beside me.

The doors locked.

I immediately looked at him.

“Seriously?”

“Automatic locks.”

“Of course they are.”

The car pulled away from the curb.

I watched my building disappear through the window. Until tonight, I'd complained about almost everything in that apartment. The plumbing made noises at two in the morning. The kitchen was too small. My bedroom window refused to close properly when it rained.

Now I wanted nothing more than to go back.

I took out my phone.

Still nothing from Papa.

I called again.

Voicemail.

“Damn you.”

Leôncio looked over.

“Not you.”

“I assumed.”

“That doesn't mean you're safe.”

Benício made a suspicious coughing sound from the front.

I leaned forward. “Are those allergies back?”

“Terrible tonight.”

Leôncio closed his eyes briefly.

For some reason, seeing his irritation made the car feel less like a hearse.

Only slightly.

I sent another message to my father.

Papa, please. Just tell me you're alive.

This one didn't deliver either.

I swallowed.

“Fourteen million?”

Leôncio looked at me.

“Reais?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Several transfers.”

“And nobody noticed?”

“We noticed.”

“Apparently not quickly enough.”

Benício turned his face toward the window.

Leôncio's gaze hardened.

I sat back.

“Sorry.”

He seemed mildly surprised.

“I wasn't apologizing to you. I was apologizing to Benício for making his allergies worse.”

Benício laughed.

An actual laugh this time.

Leôncio stared at both of us.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Benício said.

I folded my arms.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My home.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don't know you.”

“You know enough.”

“I know your name and that you're apparently terrible at noticing when fourteen million reais disappears.”

Benício coughed again.

“Benício,” Leôncio warned.

“I'm fighting it.”

I turned toward the window before Leôncio saw my smile.

The city passed outside, familiar streets looking strangely different from the back of a car I hadn't willingly entered.

After several minutes, I spoke again.

“Am I allowed to call the police?”

“Yes.”

That surprised me.

“You're not going to stop me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because telling the police you're with me won't make you safer.”

I studied his face.

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“No. It's supposed to make you understand the situation.”

“I don't understand anything.”

His expression softened by a fraction.

“I know.”

Those two words were almost kind.

I hated that I noticed.

We entered an underground parking garage beneath a modern residential tower. A security barrier lifted before the vehicle stopped completely.

Two guards were waiting.

I looked at Leôncio.

“Do you always have this many people around?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It isn't.”

“It would be for me.”

“I know.”

There it was again.

I turned slowly.

“How?”

His brows drew together.

“How what?”

“How do you know what would be exhausting for me?”

“I made an observation.”

“No. You said you knew.”

The car stopped.

Leôncio opened his door.

Conversation over, apparently.

I stayed seated.

Benício opened my side.

“Please don't make me carry you.”

I stared at him.

“Would you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I'd ask him to.”

He pointed at Leôncio.

I climbed out immediately.

Benício smiled.

“I thought so.”

The private elevator required a fingerprint. Leôncio placed his thumb against the panel and the doors opened.

There were no floor buttons inside.

“That isn't creepy at all,” I muttered.

“What would you prefer?” Leôncio asked.

“A normal elevator.”

“It is an elevator.”

“Normal ones let people decide where they're going.”

His eyes met mine.

Neither of us said anything after that.

The doors opened directly into his penthouse.

My first impression wasn't that it was beautiful.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The air smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood. Huge windows overlooked the lights of Caxias do Sul, but the room itself was restrained. Dark furniture. Stone. A few paintings.

Everything looked expensive without begging to be noticed.

I walked toward the windows.

“So this is where criminals live.”

Benício stopped behind me.

Leôncio removed his jacket.

“You've decided I'm a criminal?”

“You broke into my apartment and brought me here against my will.”

“We didn't break in.”

“Right. You were just conveniently sitting inside.”

Benício scratched his jaw.

“She has a point.”

Leôncio gave him a look.

“I'll be downstairs.”

“Coward,” I said.

“Survivor.”

He disappeared into the elevator.

I was alone with Leôncio.

That wasn't an improvement.

I turned.

“What happens now?”

“You eat.”

“I don't want food.”

“You haven't eaten since this afternoon.”

The room seemed to shrink.

I stared at him.

“How do you know that?”

Leôncio became still.

I waited.

He walked toward the kitchen.

“There's food.”

I followed him.

“That wasn't an answer.”

“No.”

“You know where I work.”

Silence.

“You knew my name before I introduced myself.”

He opened the refrigerator.

“You knew I hadn't eaten.”

“Alícia.”

“And now you're doing that thing where you say my name instead of answering.”

He took out a covered plate.

I wanted to throw it at him.

Instead, my stomach betrayed me with an audible growl.

Leôncio looked down.

I closed my eyes.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were going to.”

For the first time, I saw it.

Barely there.

A smile.

It disappeared so quickly I almost thought I'd imagined it.

He heated the food.

I sat at the counter because refusing dinner suddenly seemed less important than not fainting.

The meal was simple. Rice, grilled chicken, vegetables.

I took a bite.

Then another.

Leôncio poured himself water.

“You're not eating?”

“I ate earlier.”

“Of course you did.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I'm just enjoying being the least mysterious person in the room.”

He leaned against the counter.

I put down my fork.

“How long am I staying here?”

“Until I know you're safe.”

“And the debt?”

“That's between your father and me.”

I frowned.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“Because people are looking for him.”

“You said they're looking for me.”

“They are now.”

A chill moved through me.

“Why?”

“We don't know.”

“You seem to say that a lot for someone with armed guards.”

His mouth tightened.

I pushed the plate away.

“I want to go home tomorrow.”

“No.”

“You can't keep me here.”

“I can.”

“At least you're honest.”

“I've never lied to you.”

“Give it time.”

His eyes stayed on mine.

The air changed.

Not softer.

Closer.

I became too aware of how large he was, how little space separated us, and how calmly he watched me.

I looked away first.

“Where am I sleeping?”

He showed me to a guest room down the hall.

My bag sat on the bed.

I checked it.

The lonely sneaker was still there.

I sighed.

“Benício really did leave the other one.”

“I'll have someone retrieve it.”

“Please don't send armed men across Caxias do Sul for my shoe.”

“They won't be armed for the shoe.”

I stared at him.

Another almost-smile appeared.

“You make jokes?”

“Occasionally.”

“That's unsettling.”

He turned to leave.

“Leôncio.”

He stopped.

“Can I lock this door?”

“Yes.”

“From inside?”

“Yes.”

“And nobody comes in?”

“Not without your permission.”

That surprised me enough that my next words came quietly.

“Thank you.”

He nodded once.

Then left.

I locked the door anyway.

Sleep didn't come.

Around two in the morning, thirst finally drove me into the hallway.

The penthouse was dark except for lights near the floor.

I found water in the kitchen and started back.

Voices stopped me.

Leôncio.

Benício.

They were inside an office at the end of the corridor.

I knew I should return to my room.

Instead, I moved closer.

“This isn't sustainable,” Benício was saying.

“It doesn't need to be.”

“She'll start asking questions.”

“She already has.”

“And what are you going to tell her?”

Nothing.

I edged closer.

Benício lowered his voice.

“You should have told her years ago.”

My fingers tightened around the glass.

Told me what?

Leôncio answered, but too quietly for me to hear.

Then Benício spoke again.

This time every word was clear.

“You've protected that girl for fourteen years, Leôncio. Don't lose your head now that she's finally under your roof.”

The glass nearly slipped from my hand.

Fourteen years.

I was twenty-three.

My father had stolen Leôncio's money less than a week ago.

I backed away from the office.

One question drowned out every other thought.

If Leôncio Sartori had been protecting me since I was nine years old, then my father's fourteen million reais had nothing to do with why this man knew me.

Nothing at all.