Chapter 4: The Lobby

I took the stairs down so I wouldn't be trapped in an elevator with them.

The lobby was full of families.

Parents were pushing carts of lamps and storage bins, and a girl in a tie-dye shirt was arguing with her dad about a mini fridge.

The two men stood by the front desk.

I knew them both from Rossi's. The older one had cut my father's bread on Fridays for ten years. The younger one used to give Tommy gum.

"Renata," the older one said. "Your father sent us."

"I know."

"He wants you to ride home with us."

"I'm not going home."

"Your mother's worried."

"My mother's on the turnpike."

The younger one stepped closer and kept his hands low and open.

"Come on," he said. "Don't make this a scene. We drive you back to the island, you do the ledger, nobody's mad."

"Nobody's mad," I said. "That's the line?"

He reached for my arm.

His grip closed above my elbow, hard enough that my fingers went numb.

Around us the lobby slowed down. The tie-dye girl stopped arguing. A mother with a laundry basket turned to look.

My father had told me not to say my name.

I said it anyway.

"My name is Renata Ostuni," I said, loud enough to carry to the elevators. "I'm a student here. This man is holding my arm and I didn't ask him to."

The younger man's face changed.

"Keep your voice down."

"Let go of me."

"We're taking you home."

"Then you're going to have to do it in front of all of them."

He looked at the parents. He looked at the camera over the desk.

He didn't let go.

A hand closed around his wrist from behind.

It was a large hand, steady, and it did not squeeze or twist.

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