Chapter 2

I'm soaked when I stop in front of an old, battered door.

I stand there for a long time.

Then I knock.

The door opens. Warm yellow light spills out.

The two people inside freeze when they see me.

My mother stares at my face.

Her lips start shaking.

"Scarlett?"

Then she looks nervous.

She quickly says, "I'm sorry."

"I don't know if you want us calling you that."

My throat tightens.

They are scared to even call me by my own name.

My mother reaches for me, then stops halfway.

She looks at the dirt on her hands, at my designer dress.

She pulls her hand back.

A second later, she grabs an old towel.

It's worn almost white.

"Here. Dry your hair."

"Don't get sick."

I take it.

"I don't mind."

That's all I say.

My mother starts crying.

My father turns away. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

Then he grabs an old raincoat and runs outside.

I stare after him.

"Where is he going?"

My mother looks flustered.

"Your dad doesn't know what to say."

"He heard your stomach's always given you trouble, so he probably went to get you something easy on it."

Thirty minutes later, my father comes back, holding a takeout box against his chest.

He's brought chicken soup, a sleeve of saltine crackers, and a bottle of ginger ale.

"Bought it down the street."

Head down, he adds, "The guy at the counter said the ginger ale would help more than anything."

I know how much this probably cost him.

At the Bellamy estate, I used to eat white truffles and expensive Wagyu.

I had everything.

And somehow, nobody ever showed me love could be this simple.

These two people have just met me.

And they're already giving me everything they have.

I sit down and start eating.

The soup is hot, the crackers a little stale, but I don't care.

Then I start crying, tears falling straight into the bowl.

My mother panics.

"What's wrong?"

"Is it bad? Too salty?"

"I can make something else."

I shake my head.

I can't get a word out.

My father stands there awkwardly.

After a while, he says,

"Take your time."

"If you're still hungry, I'll get more."

That does it. I break down completely.

One meal can't undo twenty years.

But this — this is what having parents is supposed to feel like.

The Bellamy Family isn't done with me, though. Not even close.

Rumors start spreading before the week is out.

That I always knew I wasn't their real daughter.

That I refused to step aside for Vivienne.

That I used their money and their name to get close to the eight Dons.

Then the rumors get even worse.

I'm supposedly using the eight Dons like ATMs.

I'm supposedly taking money from all eight men at the same time.

And when everything gets exposed, I supposedly ran back to my poor biological parents and started playing the victim.

Word spreads fast through the underworld.

Soon everyone knows about Hayes Recycling Center.

The next morning, shouting starts outside.

Someone is yelling my name.

"Scarlett! Get out here!"

Each of them wears a different Family's insignia, but no one can say who actually sent them.

They just want to see the fake daughter everyone's talking about.

Working for the eight Families doesn't stop them from enjoying a good kick when someone's already down.

"There! That's the place!"

"The woman who scammed eight Dons is hiding in there!"

"She owes them a fortune and still has the nerve to come back here?"

My parents stand in the doorway, watching the crowd with fear in their eyes.

"Look at her parents."

"They gave birth to a daughter like that. What good could they be?"

Mom goes white. Dad steps in front of her.

"My daughter isn't a scammer."

"You've got the wrong story."

Nobody listens. They believe whatever the Bellamy Family says.

One man lifts his coffee.

Then dumps it over the cardboard Dad has just sorted.

He smirks.

"Oops."

"Hand slipped."

Dad's face changes. He rushes over.

"Don't!"

"Don't ruin them!"

The man grinds his boot into the cardboard.

"You're protecting this trash?"

Dad drops down, covering the rest with his body.

"Please."

"We can still sell this."

"I want to buy Scarlett some new clothes."

The man laughs. Then shoves him.

Dad falls into a pile of scrap. Broken glass slices his palm.

Blood runs down his hand.

"Patrick!"

Mom screams.

Dad doesn't even look at his hand.

He gets back up and keeps protecting the cardboard.

"Don't touch it."

His voice is shaking.

But he keeps saying the same thing.

"My daughter didn't scam anyone."

"She didn't lie."

I get to the yard just as he says it again, grocery bags still hanging from my hands.

I can see he's scared.

Of course he is.

But he's more afraid that I've only just found them, and now the Bellamy Family wants to take that too.

I walk toward the crowd.

"Who did that?"

The man looks at me. Then laughs.

"Oh? The Bellamy Family's fake daughter is back?"

"She came to protect her poor parents?"

People around him start laughing too.

"I heard you're real good with men."

"You managed to fool eight Dons."

"That's impressive."

"Why don’t you show us how you’ve managed to keep all those men so satisfied?"

I don't answer.

I drop the grocery bags and bend down, picking up a shard of broken glass.

The man laughs again.

"You think that little piece of glass is gonna scare me?"

I look up.

Then I move.

I rush straight at him.

The glass presses against his throat.

His smile disappears.

My own hand is bleeding from gripping it too hard.

The whole yard goes quiet.

"What now?"

He swallows.

"You—"

"Shut up." I say.

His face turns red.

He goes for the gun in his waistband.

"You little bitch!"

"You really think you can order me around?"

I push the glass closer.

"Don't."

A thin line of blood appears on his neck.

He freezes.

"You people keep saying I hooked up with eight Dons, right?"

Nobody answers.

"Then answer me this."

"If they find out what you did to my parents today, what do you think they're going to do?"

The man's face changes.

I don't stop.

"You think the eight Dons will believe the Bellamy Family?"

"Or me?"

I don't tell them what those eight Dons and I really are to each other.

I just smile.

"Guess."

People start whispering.

“All eight of them… Do you think she really has something going on with them?”

"Who knows?"

"Maybe there's more between them than just money..."

I slowly pull the glass away.

"Believe me or don't."

"But anyone who touches my parents again better think twice."

I drop the glass.

The crowd goes quiet.

The man who'd just had a piece of glass at his throat forces out an awkward laugh.

Then he waves everyone away.

"Let's go."

"This is a waste of time."

As he leaves, he throws one last insult at us.

"Rot here with your poor parents."

They leave.

I go straight to Dad.

"Dad."

"Give me your hand."

He hides it behind his back.

"I'm fine."

"Don't get yourself in trouble because of me."

My throat tightens again.

"You got hurt."

"Why are you still worried about me?"

Dad lowers his head.

He looks like a kid who just got caught doing something wrong.

"I can't do much — I only know how to sort scrap."

"I don't want to drag you down."

I crouch in front of him and take his injured hand.

"You're not dragging me down."

"You're my dad."

We go back inside.

Mom cleans his wound.

Nobody talks for a while.

Then Dad suddenly pulls out an old metal box from under the bed.

It's rusty.

Inside are wrinkled bills and coins.

He pushes everything toward me.

"Scarlett, don't be scared."

"Your mom and I can still work. We can keep the business."

"And if we have to… we'll sell whatever we can."

"We'll help pay your debts."

I look at his bandaged hand.

Tears fall.

"I don't have any debt. I didn't scam anyone."

I hug them both.

"I swear."

Mom is crying too.

She nods over and over.

"We believe you."

"Even if everybody else says you're wrong…"

"We believe you."