Mira's POV
We'd been driving for two hours when the car started making a horrible grinding sound.
"No, no, no," Mom muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Not now. Please not now."
The engine coughed, sputtered, and died.
We coasted to a stop on a street I didn't recognize. Dark buildings loomed on both sides—warehouses mostly, their windows broken or boarded up. Graffiti covered every surface. Street lights flickered weakly, and half of them were completely dark.
This was not a good neighborhood.
"Stay in the car," Mom said, popping the hood. "I'll check the engine."
But I could tell from her voice she already knew it was bad. Really bad.
I watched her through the windshield, illuminated by the one working streetlight. She poked at things under the hood, her face getting more worried by the second.
Finally she came back, defeat written all over her face.
"The transmission's gone," she said quietly. "We're not going anywhere in this car."
"Can we call a tow truck?"
She pulled out her phone and stared at the screen. "My battery's almost dead. And I left my charger at home." She looked at me. "What about yours?"
"I turned it off," I admitted. "I didn't want Victoria tracking it."
"Smart." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Okay. Okay, we can figure this out. There has to be a gas station or something around here where we can charge our phones and call for help."
We got out and started walking, staying close together. The air smelled like oil and rust and something rotting. Our footsteps echoed off the empty buildings.
"This place is creepy," I whispered.
"Just stay close to me."
We walked for what felt like forever but was probably only fifteen minutes. Every shadow seemed threatening. Every sound made us jump. Once, a cat yowled from an alley and I nearly screamed.
Finally, we saw lights ahead. A warehouse, bigger than the others, with cars parked outside. Expensive cars—sleek and shiny, completely out of place in this rundown area.
"Maybe someone there can help," Mom said, though she didn't sound convinced.
As we got closer, I noticed something weird. The warehouse windows glowed with light, but they were covered with something—paper or fabric—so you couldn't see inside. And the people standing by the cars wore suits. At night. In a warehouse district.
Something felt wrong.
"Mom, maybe we should—"
The warehouse door burst open and three men came out, laughing about something. They stopped when they saw us.
"Well, well," one of them said. He had slicked-back hair and a scar on his cheek. "What do we have here?"
"Sorry to bother you," Mom said quickly, stepping in front of me. "Our car broke down a few streets over. We're just looking for somewhere to charge our phones and call a tow truck."
The men looked at each other. Something passed between them—some silent communication I didn't understand.
"This isn't a great place for a lady and her kid to be walking around," Scar-face said. His voice was almost friendly, but something about it made my skin crawl. "Dangerous neighborhood."
"We know," Mom said. "That's why we're trying to get out of here as fast as possible."
"Tell you what." He pulled out his own phone. "I'll call you a tow truck. No charge. But you should wait inside where it's safe."
Every instinct I had screamed this was a bad idea. But what choice did we have? Walk around this creepy neighborhood in the dark? Go back to our dead car and hope nobody bothered us?
Mom must have been thinking the same thing because she nodded. "Thank you. That's very kind."
The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "No problem at all. We take care of people in this neighborhood. It's what we do."
He led us toward the warehouse entrance. The other two men followed behind us—not threatening exactly, but definitely blocking our escape route.
The door opened and we stepped inside.
The warehouse was huge, with a high ceiling and concrete floors. Crates were stacked along the walls. In the center of the space, about twenty people sat around tables, playing cards and drinking. More men in suits stood around the edges, watching.
Everyone stopped and looked at us when we walked in.
"Boss," Scar-face called out. "Got some visitors. Car broke down outside."
A man stood up from one of the card tables. He was younger than I expected—maybe thirty—with dark hair and darker eyes. He wore an expensive suit that probably cost more than our car. When he looked at us, his expression was unreadable.
"Well," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "This is unexpected."
Mom's hand found mine and squeezed tight. I could feel her trembling.
"We don't want any trouble," she said. "We just need to make a phone call and then we'll be out of your way."
"Trouble." The man—the boss—smiled slightly. "Funny word. Usually when people stumble into my business uninvited, they are the trouble." He walked closer, studying us like we were puzzles to solve. "But you two... you look like you've already had a rough day."
That was the understatement of the century.
"You could say that," Mom said carefully.
"Hmm." He circled us slowly. "Running from something? Or someone?"
Neither of us answered.
"I see." He stopped in front of us. "Here's the thing. You've seen my face now. Seen my operation. That makes you a liability."
My heart dropped into my stomach.
"We won't tell anyone," I blurted out. "We don't even know where we are. We won't say anything about this place, I promise."
He looked at me for a long moment. "You know what I think? I think you're telling the truth. I think you're just two people who had some very bad luck tonight." He turned to Scar-face. "Marco, get them some water. And a phone charger."
Marco nodded and disappeared into a side room.
"Thank you," Mom breathed. "Really, thank you so much."
"Don't thank me yet." The boss sat back down at his card table. "Sit. Both of you. While we wait for the tow truck, you're going to tell me exactly what you're running from. And don't lie—I always know when people are lying."
We sat on a crate across from him. What choice did we have?
Marco returned with two bottles of water and plugged Mom's phone into a charger.
The boss steepled his fingers and waited.
So I told him. Everything. Victoria. The notes. The kidnapping. The fire. The fake evidence in our car. Running away because we had no other choice.
I don't know why I told him. Maybe because I was exhausted. Maybe because I didn't think it mattered anymore—we were already in a warehouse full of criminals, how much worse could things get?
Or maybe because for the first time all day, someone was actually listening.
When I finished, the warehouse was completely silent. Everyone had stopped playing cards to listen.
The boss's expression had changed. His jaw was tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
"Let me make sure I understand," he said quietly. "A sixteen-year-old girl kidnapped your mother, tried to kill you both, framed you for arson, and threatened to destroy your entire life if you told anyone?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"And you ran instead of going to the police because you thought no one would believe you."
"Her father donates millions to the school. She said everyone owes him. She said—"
"I know what people like that say." His voice was cold. "I know exactly what they say and how they operate. What's the girl's name?"
"Victoria Sterling."
Something flickered in his eyes. Recognition maybe. "Sterling. As in Richard Sterling? Real estate developer?"
"I... I don't know. Maybe?"
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, this is rich. This is absolutely perfect." He stood up abruptly. "Marco, bring me everything we have on the Sterling family."
"Boss, you sure that's wise?" Marco asked carefully. "Getting involved in—"
"Did I stutter?"
Marco disappeared into a back office.
Mom and I exchanged confused glances. What was happening?
The boss turned back to us. "Here's what you need to understand about people like the Sterlings. They think money makes them untouchable. They think they can do whatever they want to whoever they want, and there will never be consequences." He smiled, and it was the scariest smile I'd ever seen. "They're usually right. But not always."
"I don't understand," I said.
"You will." He pulled out his own phone and made a call. "Anthony? It's Dante. I need you to dig up everything—and I mean everything—on Victoria Sterling. Westwood Academy student. Parents are Richard and Patricia Sterling... Yes, I know who they are... I don't care what you have to do, I want dirt. The kind that sticks... Twenty-four hours? Make it twelve."
He hung up and looked at us. "You two are going to stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we're going to have a conversation about what happens next."
"Stay here?" Mom's voice went up an octave. "We can't—we're not—"
"You're not criminals," Dante finished. "I know. But you're also not safe out there. That girl has your information, your car, probably your address. You think she's done with you? She sent you running once. Now she knows she can do it again. People like that don't stop until they're stopped."
He was right. The realization hit me like a slap. Victoria wasn't going to let us disappear quietly. She liked having power over us. She'd find us again, and next time would be even worse.
"What do you want in return?" Mom asked quietly. "Nothing's free."
"Smart woman." Dante nodded approvingly. "What I want is simple. Richard Sterling has been a thorn in my side for years. He buys up property in my territory, drives out my businesses, makes life difficult. I've been looking for a way to return the favor. You two just handed me that opportunity."
"We're not helping you with whatever criminal—" Mom started.
"I'm not asking you to." Dante cut her off. "I'm offering you protection and revenge. You help me take down the Sterling family's reputation, I make sure Victoria never bothers you again. Fair trade."
It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair. We'd gone from one dangerous situation to another.
But at least this time, someone was offering to fight back.
"How do we know we can trust you?" I asked.
Dante looked surprised, then impressed. "Smart kid. You can't. You have to decide if the devil you know—Victoria Sterling—is worse than the devil you don't—me." He leaned forward. "But I'll tell you this. I don't hurt kids. I don't hurt innocent people. And I really, really don't like bullies."
The warehouse door suddenly slammed open.
Everyone jumped to their feet. Hands went to hidden weapons. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
A girl walked in. Blonde hair. Perfect clothes. That same cruel smile.
Victoria Sterling stood in the doorway, flanked by two large men in security uniforms.
"Found you," she said, looking right at me.
My blood turned to ice.
"How did you—"
"Oh, Mira." Victoria tsked. "Did you really think I wouldn't track your mom's phone? I've been following you since you left the school parking lot. Watching. Waiting. Seeing where you'd run." Her eyes swept the warehouse, taking in all the men in suits, the card tables, the obvious criminal activity. "And look where you ended up. A mob warehouse. Oh, this is even better than I planned."
Dante stepped between us and Victoria. "I think you should leave."
Victoria looked him up and down, completely unafraid. "I think you should mind your business. This is between me and them."
"Actually," Dante said softly, dangerously, "you just made it my business. Nobody threatens people under my protection."
"Your protection?" Victoria laughed. "They've been here for like twenty minutes. That's not protection, that's a coincidence."
"Twenty minutes is all it takes." Dante snapped his fingers. Suddenly, every person in the warehouse was standing, facing Victoria and her security guards. Easily twenty against three.
The security guards shifted nervously. Victoria's smile faltered.
"Now," Dante continued in that same quiet voice, "I'm going to give you one chance to walk out that door and forget you ever saw this place. If you don't..." He let the sentence hang.
"You're threatening me?" Victoria's voice went shrill. "Do you know who my father is?"
"Richard Sterling. Real estate developer. Worth about forty million." Dante rattled off facts like he was reading from a file. "Has a gambling problem he tries to hide. Owes money to some very dangerous people in Atlantic City. People who would be very interested to know his daughter is making enemies in my territory."
Victoria's face went pale.
"How do you—"
"Know that?" Dante smiled. "I make it my business to know everything about everyone. Now get out. While you still can."
For a long moment, nobody moved. Victoria stood frozen, her two guards looking increasingly uncomfortable.
Then she turned on her heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.
The warehouse erupted in noise—people talking, laughing, slapping each other on the back.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Victoria had found us. She'd tracked us down in less than three hours. And she'd only left because Dante scared her away.
What would happen when she came back? Because she would come back. People like Victoria always did.
"She'll tell her father," Mom said quietly. "About this place. About you."
"Let her." Dante sat back down at his card table like nothing had happened. "You two just became very valuable to me. Anyone who makes Victoria Sterling that angry is someone I want on my side."
He looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time I saw something in his eyes besides coldness.
Respect maybe. Or recognition.
"Welcome to the family, kid," he said. "Something tells me your life just got a whole lot more complicated."