Chapter 4

A week before the official SAT administration, school went on study leave.

While the other students were out partying or cramming at high-end prep centers, I was still stuck in the auto shop, grease under my fingernails.

On a humid Tuesday afternoon, the roar of a high-performance engine shattered the quiet street.

Dante’s customized Aston Martin pulled up right in front of the garage doors, the bass from his stereo rattling the dusty windows.

He climbed out, leaning casually against the driver's side door, and waved a hand toward me.

“Siena, get over here.”

I didn't lift my head from the engine bay I was working on.

His footsteps drew closer, his shadow falling over my workspace. “I'm talking to you. Are you deaf in both ears now?”

He reached out to grab my hand, but when he saw the thick black grease coating my skin, he quickly pulled his fingers back in disgust.

“Go wash up. You're coming with me.”

“Where?” I asked, my voice dry.

“Bianca wants to go to the beach. I'm taking the yacht out. You're coming along.”

I wiped my brow with my shoulder, keeping my back straight. “I'm not going.”

“Still throwing a tantrum?” Dante let out a sharp, irritated breath. “I went out of my way to drive down here and invite you myself. Don't be ungrateful.”

“I said, I'm not going.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I need to study.”

“Study?” Dante laughed, the sound dripping with genuine amusement. “Are you kidding me? You don't need to study. You could probably get a 1500 with your eyes closed.”

He paused, his expression softening just a fraction. “Just come. Think of it as a break. Bianca said she wants to make things right with you.”

“I have nothing to make right with her.”

Dante’s remaining patience snapped. “Siena, I am asking you one last time. Are you coming or not?”

“No.”

He stared at me for several tense seconds, a dark, mocking grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Fine. You want to play the stubborn martyr? Go ahead.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick band of crisp hundred-dollar bills, and threw them directly at my feet.

The green notes scattered across the grease-stained concrete floor, drifting into the puddles of dirty oil.

“That's your monthly salary. I already paid your boss off for your time. Take the cash and get out of my sight. Stop acting like an eyesore.”

I stared at the money lying in the dirt, my hands clenched into tight fists.

“Not enough?” He pulled out another stack, tossing it down like confetti. “Is this enough to buy your miserable pride?”

Uncle Mark, the elderly owner of the shop, rushed out from the back office when he heard the shouting. “Master Dante, what is going on here? Let's all calm down and talk.”

Dante didn't even spare Mark a glance. His eyes remained locked on mine. “Pick it up.”

I didn't move an inch.

The passenger door of the Aston Martin opened, and Bianca stepped out.

She hurried over to Dante’s side, clutching his arm with a worried expression. “Dan, please don't do this. You're going to scare Siena.”

She knelt down on the dirty concrete, her expensive designer skirt dragging in the dust, and began picking up the scattered bills one by one.

“Siena, please don't be mad at Dan,” she pleaded, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes. “He only did this because he wanted us to hang out.”

She stood up and tried to press the crumpled, dirty money into my hand. “Please, Siena. Just come with us. I don't want your relationship with Dan to ruin because of me.”

I looked at her tear-stained face, then shifted my gaze to Dante.

Dante stood tall, his jaw set, showing absolutely no remorse.

In his mind, this was an act of high charity.

He believed he owned the right to dictate my life, my choices, and my dignity, simply because he had the means to pay for them.

I turned my back on them and walked straight into the dark backroom of the shop.

Behind me, Dante’s sneering voice carried clearly through the open door: “Look at her. Always the same disgusting temper. Give her an inch and she takes a mile!”

A moment later, the Aston Martin's engine roared to life, tires screeching as they sped away.

Uncle Mark walked into the backroom, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Siena, child... don't take it to heart. Master Dante has always had a short fuse.”

He picked up the remaining bills they had left on the counter and gently pressed them into my hand. “Take it. Your family... you need the money, Siena.”

I gripped the stack of cash. The paper notes still smelled faintly of Bianca's sweet, artificial perfume.

I walked over to the rusted metal sink, turned the faucet on high, and began scrubbing my hands with harsh industrial soap.

I washed them over and over, scrubbing until my skin turned raw and bright red, but the smell of that cheap perfume refused to wash away.

That night, my father returned to the shop.

He snatched the money from my drawer and smashed half the tools in the garage in a drunken rage.

I didn't hesitate. I dialed 911.

The police came and dragged him away in handcuffs once again.

Before they shoved him into the back of the cruiser, he spat in my direction, his face twisted in venomous rage. “You ungrateful little bitch! Calling the cops on your own father! You'll burn in hell for this!”

I watched the red and blue lights fade into the damp night, my chest completely hollow.

So this was what it felt like to be completely, utterly alone.