Chapter 3 - “And you have been standing for 11 hours today.”
He set the tablet aside.
“What I do not understand is why someone carrying that much weight threw more than $3,000 back in my face.”
Maya’s fear became anger.
“Because it wasn’t a tip.”
She stepped closer to the open door.
“It was another test.”
“You wanted to know if I was desperate enough to take money from the same man who humiliated me.”
“You wanted proof that my dignity had a number.”
Dominic watched her.
“Everyone’s dignity has a price.”
“Not mine.”
Maya said it immediately.
Dominic tilted his head.
“Really?”
Then he struck where it would hurt most.
“When the eviction happens Tuesday and you and Sophie are sitting outside with your belongings in trash bags, will you feed her with your pride?”
He paused.
“Will your Neapolitan accent pay for kidney treatments?”
Maya flinched.
The words hit harder than she wanted him to know.
Anger weakened.
Reality returned.
He was right about 1 thing.
Sophie could not survive Maya’s pride.
Dominic watched the change in her face.
For a brief moment, something that looked almost like regret passed through his eyes.
Then disappeared.
“Get in the car.”
His voice softened.
“I am not going to hurt you.”
“I am not propositioning you.”
“I am driving you home.”
Maya looked toward the street.
Then toward the enforcer.
Her feet hurt.
Her clothes were soaked.
She was too tired to keep resisting simply for the sake of resistance.
She entered.
The car was warm.
Dry.
Quiet.
Maya pressed herself against the far window.
For 10 minutes, only the windshield wipers broke the silence.
Then Dominic spoke.
“Why did you learn the dialect?”
Maya closed her eyes.
“My mother.”
Her voice became distant.
“She moved us to Spaccanapoli when I was 7.”
“She fell in love with a man connected to the Camorra.”
“He drank too much grappa.”
“He used his hands when he was angry.”
Maya kept her eyes closed.
“I learned the language because I needed to know when to hide under the bed.”
Dominic said nothing.
He understood violence too well for false sympathy.
Eventually, he spoke.
“You didn’t flinch when I insulted you.”
“Most people do.”
Maya gave a tired answer.
“I’ve been called worse by men who tipped better.”
A low laugh escaped Dominic.
Genuine.
Dark.
“I’ll remember that.”
The sedan carried her through the rain toward Washington Heights.
When they stopped, water streamed from the damaged gutters around Maya’s apartment building.
She reached immediately for the door handle.
“Maya.”
Dominic’s voice stopped her.
She did not turn.
“The eviction notice has been taken care of.”
Maya slowly looked back.
“The medical debt at St. Jude’s is cleared.”
He continued as if discussing a business transaction.
“Tomorrow, Dr. Aris will take over Sophie’s case.”
“You will not receive another bill.”
Maya stared at him.
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
Her voice cracked.
“I did not offer.”
Dominic looked back toward his tablet.
“Sleep.”
“The clinic is difficult enough without doing it after 4 hours.”
Maya got out.
The sedan remained for approximately 2 seconds.
Then disappeared into the rain.
She stood outside until the taillights were gone.
Then climbed 3 flights of stairs.
The apartment was small.
Drafty.
The radiator fought against cold air leaking through the window frames.
Maya entered quietly.
She pulled aside the curtain dividing the sleeping area.
Sophie lay beneath a thick blanket.
19 years old.
But illness had made her appear younger.
Her skin was pale.
Her face thin.
The rise and fall of her chest was the only thing in Maya’s life that still felt certain.
Maya sat on the worn sofa.
She remained in her wet clothes.
$32,000 gone.
The eviction removed.
Sophie’s medical care transferred.
She covered her face.
What she felt was not relief.
It was fear.
Men like Dominic Russo did not give gifts.
They made investments.
Maya had no idea what he expected in return.
3 hours later, her alarm sounded.
Maya got up.
Made cheap coffee.
Changed clothes.
Then woke Sophie.
“Time to go.”
Sophie groaned.
“I feel like I’m made of lead.”
“I know.”
Maya helped her sit.
“Lean on me.”
On the subway, Sophie slept against Maya’s shoulder.
Maya stared at their reflections in the scratched window.
Her face looked hollow.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
She looked exactly like the woman Dominic had assessed in the restaurant.
At St. Jude’s, they entered the dialysis ward.
Vinyl chairs.
Machines.
Bleach.
Saline.
The metallic smell of blood.
Maya settled Sophie into her regular chair and wrapped a warm blanket around her.
Normally, an exhausted nurse handled the port.
That morning, an older doctor entered wearing a precisely tailored white coat.
He carried a tablet.
“Ms. Maya?”
Maya stood.
“I’m Dr. Aris.”
He offered his hand.
“I’m taking over your sister’s treatment.”
“We are transferring her upstairs to the private wing.”
“Her present regimen is insufficient.”
Maya did not take his hand.
Sophie looked toward him.
“Who’s paying for this?”
Dr. Aris lowered his hand.
“Billing has been resolved by a private benefactor.”
He continued.
“Orderlies are bringing a wheelchair.”
Maya felt the blood leave her face.
Dominic had done exactly what he said.
Not merely paid a bill.
He had reached into a major hospital and changed the system around Sophie.
Sophie pulled Maya’s sleeve.
“What benefactor?”
Maya forced a smile.
“Don’t worry.”
“Let them take you upstairs.”
“I’m coming.”
After Sophie was moved, Maya went to admissions.
“I want to see the account.”
The receptionist, normally strict about Maya’s payment schedule, avoided her eyes.
The monitor turned.
Balance: $0.
The source of payment consisted only of corporate acronyms.
Maya walked away.
She entered the stairwell.
Then sat on the concrete steps with her knees drawn up.
She was not free.
She had been bought.
The private wing felt nothing like the public dialysis floor.
Carpet.
Soft lighting.
Clean air.
Quiet machines.
Fresh fruit.
A private room.
Sophie slept in a bed surrounded by equipment Maya could never have afforded.
Maya sat in a leather chair for 2 hours.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
440 West 14th Street.
8:00 p.m.
Wear something black.
No signature.
None was necessary.
Maya locked the phone.
Her exhaustion remained.
But beneath it, anger was growing.
She left the hospital at noon and returned toward home.
When she entered her building, Mr. Henderson was waiting in the lobby.
Her landlord normally enjoyed threatening tenants.
Today, he looked frightened.
“Maya.”
His hands shook.
“What do you want?”
She looked at him.
“I saw the eviction notice.”
“I’m packing this weekend.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“There was an accounting error.”
“Your rent is paid through the end of next year.”
Then he corrected himself.
“Actually, indefinitely.”
Maya stared.
“The building changed ownership this morning.”
“A holding company bought it at 9:00 a.m.”
“They paid twice market value.”
His voice became faster.
“I’m only the maintenance supervisor now.”
May you like
“You owe nothing.”
He shoved a manila envelope toward her.
Related Stories
