Chapter 25 Betrayal
AMELIA
Three Hours Earlier
"I'm heading to work," Elena called from the kitchen. "You sure you'll be okay here alone?"
I was sitting on her couch—our couch now, she kept insisting—with a cup of tea warming my hands. "I'll be fine. It's just a few hours."
"Miguel said he might stop by around noon. He wanted to talk to you about that dishwashing job at his cousin's restaurant."
Miguel, Elena's boyfriend. I'd met him two days ago when Elena had brought him over for dinner.
Two days ago
"Amelia, this is Miguel," she'd said. "Miguel, this is my friend Amelia. The one I told you about."
"Nice to meet you." His voice had been warm. Friendly. "Elena says you're looking for work?"
"Yes. Anything, really. I just need something steady."
"My cousin owns a restaurant in Chinatown. It's a small place, family-run. They need someone in the kitchen. The job involves washing dishes, doing prep work, and similar tasks. "It's not glamorous, but it pays cash, and they won't ask too many questions."
Hope had fluttered in my chest. "Really?" I said enthusiastically.
"Yeah. Let me talk to him and set up a time for you to come by. We'll figure it out."
Elena had squeezed my hand. "See? I told you things would work out."
And for the first time in weeks, I'd let myself believe it might be true.
Now, a week into living with Elena, I was starting to feel almost... safe.
The couch was comfortable. Elena had shown me the apartment layout so many times I could navigate it without my cane. She'd taken me to the corner store and introduced me to the owner, who promised to help if I ever needed anything.
"You've got to build a network," Elena had said. "People you can trust. That's how you survive in this city."
And I was building one. I was building it slowly and carefully.
"Okay, I'm leaving." Elena's keys jingled. "Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
"I will. Have a good shift."
The door closed, with the lock clicked.
I sat in the quiet apartment, sipping my tea, and let myself relax.
For the first time since leaving St Mary's, I felt like maybe I could do this. Maybe I could build a life here.
The knock came at four-thirty.
"Amelia? It's Miguel. Elena said I could stop by."
I got up carefully, navigating to the door. "She mentioned you might come."
"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about the job. Can I come in?"
I unlocked the door and stepped back. "Of course," I said.
Miguel came inside. I could hear him moving around the living room—the rustle of his jacket coming off, the creak of the chair as he sat.
"Want some water or anything?" I asked.
"Nah, I'm good. Come sit. Let's talk about this job opportunity."
I found my way to the couch and sat down with my hands folded in my lap.
"So my cousin's genuinely interested," Miguel started. "The restaurant's called Golden Dragon. Small kitchen, but busy during lunch and dinner. You'd be washing dishes mostly, with some light prep work. Nothing too complicated."
"That sounds perfect." I said, nodding my head.
He continued, ''The pay is likely to be minimum wage, payable in cash. But it's steady work and my cousin's a good guy. He won't care that you're... you know."
"Blind," I finished quietly.
"Yeah. He's pretty open-minded about that kind of thing."
We talked for a while about the job—hours, responsibilities, how I'd get there. Miguel seemed genuinely helpful, giving me directions and offering to introduce me to his cousin.
"You've been really kind," I said. "Thank you."
"Hey, Elena cares about you. That means I care about you." He shifted in his chair. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."
"Okay," I said with interest.
"Elena mentioned you used to work at some bar. Crimson?"
My stomach tightened. "For a few days, yes."
"What was that like? I mean, Elena said it was pretty rough."
"It was... not a good situation."
"But you met some interesting people, right? Elena said something about mafia guys coming in?"
Warning bells started ringing in the back of my mind. "I don't really remember. I kept my head down."
"Come on, you must have heard things. Seen things." He laughed. "Well, not seen, but you know what I mean."
"I didn't hear anything important."
"Nothing? Were names mentioned? Faces?" He went silent for a while. "I mean, you probably couldn't see faces, but—"
"Why are you asking me this?" I said, shifting uncomfortably.
"Just curious. Elena makes it sound like this big secret world and I—"
"I don't want to talk about Crimson." I stood up. "Maybe we should do this another time. When Elena's here."
"Hey, relax. I was just making conversation." His voice changed slightly. Harder. "Sit down."
"I think you should leave."
"I'm not leaving. Not yet." I heard him stand. Heard him move closer. "You know, Elena talks about you like you're some innocent victim. Poor blind girl, that you've been through so much."
My hand tightened on my cane. "Miguel—"
"But I'm thinking maybe you're not so innocent. Maybe you saw—heard—things at that bar. Things that could be valuable. Information people would pay for."
"I don't know anything."
"I don't believe you." He was close now. Too close. I could smell alcohol on his breath. "Those girls who threw you out? They said you were working private rooms. Serving made men. Important people."
I was surprised and asked, "How do you—"
"I asked around. Did some digging." His hand touched my arm. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you heard at Crimson. Names, dates, anything useful. And I'm going to sell that information to some people I know. We'll split the profit."
"No." I tried to pull away. "I'm not doing that."
"Yes, you are." His grip tightened. "Because if you don't, I'll tell Elena you came onto me. That you tried to seduce me. She'll throw you out, and you'll be right back where you started. Homeless. Alone."
I laughed nervously and said, "She won't believe you."
"Won't she?" He pulled me closer. "I'm her boyfriend. You're some girl she barely knows. Who do you think she'll choose?"
"Let go of me." I tried to pull my arm free.
"Or what? You'll hit me? You're blind, sweetheart. You can't even see where I am."
But I could hear him. I could feel his presence. I could smell the scent of alcohol and inexpensive cologne.
I swung my cane.
It connected with something—his knee, maybe. He cursed and released my arm.
"You bitch!" he grunted with pain.
I backed away and caned up defensively. "Get out!" I shouted at him.
"I'm not going anywhere." He came at me again. Faster this time.
We collided. I felt him grab my dress and heard fabric tearing.
"Stop!" I screamed, swinging the cane wildly.
It hit his face. I heard the crunch and heard him yell.
But he didn't let go of me.