THE DEBT

Chapter Three: My Mother Knew Him

Fourteen years.

I stood in the hallway with a glass of water sweating between my fingers.

Fourteen years ago, I had been nine.

My father hadn't stolen fourteen million reais when I was nine. I hadn't known Leôncio Sartori existed. As far as I knew, my family had never had anything to do with his.

Apparently, I knew nothing.

Benício's voice came through the office door again.

“She deserves the truth.”

“She deserves to stay alive.”

Leôncio sounded tired.

Not angry. Not threatening.

Tired.

“And when she finds out?”

“I'll deal with it.”

“You said that about bringing her here.”

“I did bring her here.”

“Yes. That's the problem.”

I leaned closer.

My bare foot brushed something.

A tiny decorative table beside the wall shifted with a soft scrape.

I froze.

The conversation stopped.

Wonderful.

I turned and walked toward my room as quietly as possible.

“Alícia?”

I closed my eyes.

Leôncio.

I considered pretending I hadn't heard him.

At two in the morning, in his house, while holding a glass of water?

Not convincing.

I turned.

He stood outside the office.

Benício was behind him.

“What are you doing awake?” Leôncio asked.

I lifted the glass.

“Planning a complicated robbery.”

His eyes dropped to the water.

“I've successfully stolen about two hundred milliliters.”

Benício looked at the ceiling.

I pointed at him.

“Don't start coughing.”

His mouth twitched.

Leôncio wasn't amused.

“Go back to bed.”

I stared at him.

Fourteen years.

The words were sitting on my tongue.

I wanted to throw them at him and watch his face.

Instead, I smiled.

“Good night.”

Suspicion entered his expression.

I walked away before he could question me.

Inside my room, I locked the door and leaned against it.

My heart was beating too fast.

Why hadn't I confronted him?

Because I needed to know more before Leôncio realized what I'd heard.

For the first time since he entered my apartment, I had information he didn't know I possessed.

I intended to keep it that way.

Sleep never really came.

By seven, I gave up.

I showered, pulled on jeans and a cream sweater from the bag Benício had packed, then discovered he'd somehow included three bras but no socks.

I stared into the bag.

“How?”

The penthouse was quiet when I stepped outside.

The smell of coffee led me to the kitchen.

Leôncio was already there.

Of course he was.

He stood near the counter in a white shirt with the sleeves folded to his forearms, reading something on his phone.

He looked irritatingly rested.

I felt like I'd been hit by a bus.

“Morning,” I said.

His eyes lifted.

He studied my face.

“You didn't sleep.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes.”

He reached for a cup.

“Milk. No sugar.”

I stopped.

Leôncio stopped too.

There it was.

Small.

Careless.

Exactly what I'd been waiting for.

I pulled out a stool and sat down.

“How did you know that?”

He poured the coffee.

“Know what?”

“That I take milk.”

“Most people put something in coffee.”

“But you knew no sugar.”

He placed the cup in front of me.

I didn't touch it.

“How long have you known me?”

His expression became unreadable.

“You didn't know me.”

“That wasn't my question.”

“Drink your coffee.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“Then don't drink it.”

I pushed the cup away.

His jaw tightened.

Petty?

Absolutely.

Satisfying?

Very.

“I heard you last night.”

Silence.

I watched his face carefully.

Nothing dramatic happened. No shouting. No denial.

He simply put his phone down.

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“Apparently we're both fond of those.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

I leaned forward.

“Fourteen years.”

Something changed.

Barely.

But I saw it.

“Why has Benício apparently known about me since I was nine?”

Leôncio said nothing.

“Were you watching my family?”

“Alícia.”

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Using my name when you don't want to answer.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw.

For the first time, I thought I might actually be exhausting him.

Good.

“I'll explain what I can when I have more information.”

“That's nonsense.”

“It isn't.”

“Then explain one thing.”

He waited.

“How did you know how I take my coffee?”

His eyes held mine.

A man's voice answered from behind me.

“Because my brother is creepy.”

I turned.

The newcomer walked into the kitchen as if he'd been invited into the conversation.

He was younger than Leôncio, maybe late thirties, with dark brown hair and an easier face. Same general features. Completely different energy.

He took an apple from a bowl.

Leôncio looked unimpressed.

“Adriano.”

“Leôncio.”

The man bit into the apple.

Then he looked at me.

“You must be Alícia.”

I folded my arms.

“Apparently everyone knows me.”

Adriano paused.

That was interesting.

“I meant Benício mentioned you.”

“Of course he did.”

Adriano looked at Leôncio.

“What did I walk into?”

“Leave.”

“Ah. Breakfast with my brother.”

He pulled out the stool beside mine.

Leôncio's expression hardened.

“I said leave.”

“And I'm choosing personal growth by ignoring you.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Leôncio looked at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Adriano pointed at me.

“I like her.”

“You've known her thirty seconds.”

“That's usually enough.”

Leôncio took my untouched coffee and drank from it.

I stared at him.

“That was mine.”

“You weren't drinking it.”

“That doesn't make it yours.”

Adriano looked between us.

“Oh, this is going to be entertaining.”

“Adriano.”

“Fine.”

He stood.

Before leaving, he leaned toward me.

“My brother has control issues.”

“I've noticed.”

“I don't have control issues,” Leôncio said.

Adriano looked around the penthouse.

Then at me.

Then back at his brother.

“You brought a woman here against her will.”

“For her protection.”

Adriano nodded solemnly.

“See? Control issues.”

This time I laughed properly.

Even Leôncio's mouth almost moved.

Almost.

Adriano left.

The kitchen became quieter.

I looked at Leôncio.

“Is he always like that?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You like him.”

“He's my brother.”

“That wasn't what I said.”

He studied me.

“You notice too much.”

“So do you.”

That ended the lighter moment.

I slid off the stool.

“I want my phone working normally. I want to call my job. And I need socks.”

Leôncio blinked.

“Socks?”

“Benício packed three bras and no socks.”

A pause.

“I'll speak to him.”

“Please don't make it sound like a disciplinary hearing.”

I walked away.

Behind me, I heard Leôncio mutter something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Later that morning, Adriano found me near the windows.

He handed me a temporary elevator card.

“It won't get you downstairs.”

“Then what good is it?”

“Gym. Library. Terrace. Anything except freedom.”

I gave him a look.

“Your family has a strange sense of hospitality.”

“You have no idea.”

I turned the card over.

“Why are you helping me?”

His expression became less playful.

“Because Leôncio won't tell you anything until he thinks you're ready.”

“And you disagree?”

“I think people deserve to know when their lives aren't what they thought.”

My skin prickled.

“What does that mean?”

Adriano looked away.

I caught it immediately.

“What do you know about me?”

“Ask Leôncio.”

“I did.”

“Then ask louder.”

“I practically interrogated him over coffee.”

“That probably ruined his morning.”

“It improved mine.”

Adriano smiled.

Then his eyes landed on something behind me.

His expression changed.

I followed his gaze.

A hallway.

At the end was Leôncio's office.

“What's in there?”

“Nothing you need.”

“That sounded rehearsed.”

“Alícia.”

“What?”

Adriano sighed.

“Your mother had the same habit.”

Everything inside me stopped.

“What did you say?”

He went still.

I stared at him.

“You knew my mother?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You said my mother had the same habit.”

“Alícia, talk to Leôncio.”

I stepped toward him.

“Was her name Maíra?”

His silence answered me.

I didn't wait.

I headed for the office.

“Alícia.”

Adriano followed.

I pushed through the door.

Leôncio wasn't there.

“Don't do this.”

“Do what? Learn something about my own family?”

I turned toward Adriano.

“Was my mother involved with your family?”

He looked toward the doorway.

I followed his gaze.

Leôncio stood there.

His expression was cold.

“Get out, Adriano.”

Adriano didn't argue this time.

He left.

I faced Leôncio.

“You knew my mother.”

He didn't answer.

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

One word.

It felt like a punch.

“How?”

“It's complicated.”

“I hate that sentence.”

I moved away from him, my eyes burning.

“All my life, I've had one photograph of her beside my bed. One. My father barely talks about her because it hurts too much, and now I find out strangers know things about her that I don't.”

“You're not ready for this.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Don't you dare decide what I'm ready for.”

I walked out before I cried in front of him.

I didn't know where I was going.

Halfway down the hallway, my arm caught the edge of a small table.

A framed photograph fell.

Glass shattered across the floor.

“Damn it.”

I crouched.

“Don't touch the glass,” Leôncio said behind me.

I ignored him.

Then I saw the photograph.

My fingers stopped.

A much younger Leôncio stood outside a vineyard.

Beside him was a woman with long dark hair and green hazel eyes.

My eyes.

My mother's eyes.

Maíra.

She was smiling.

And Leôncio's arm was around her shoulders.

I picked up the photograph with shaking fingers.

“My

mother died fourteen years ago.”

Leôncio said nothing.

I looked from the picture to the man standing in front of me.

Every strange detail suddenly felt poisonous.

The surveillance.

The coffee.

The fourteen years.

My father disappearing.

Leôncio knowing things he shouldn't.

My voice cracked.

“What did you do to her?”