Dancing with a stranger

Chapter |4✨

I went to the salon and Teresa was working my favorite employee, and she was doing Ms. Betty's' haircut, she is a repeating customer and the sweetest old lady.

"Hi, Teresa," I say, walking in, and I hug Betty, who was getting up and looking in the mirror. She was on her way to her nail appointment. Ms. Betty always had a schedule. Every Thursday was hairstyle and accompanied by nail appointments, then she would sometimes meet for lunch with her daughter Debra.

I'm here for business, I smile and giggle at her because some customers didn't notice what goes on. They know who my father is, though.

I walked toward the back of the salon, through the narrow hallway and into a dimly lit room. The scent of leather and cologne hit me as I stepped inside. Lorenzo sat at the small desk, a few papers scattered around, he was holding a conversation with the man I saw at the bar. but his attention then was on me the moment I entered.

"Who is he"I ask perching on the lounge.

"He is Kian Garcia" he smirks and throws off his head. You're late," he teased, standing up with a smirk.

"Traffic," I said dryly, though it wasn't exactly true. I didn't feel like explaining.

As in James Garcia's son, I questioned.

Yeah, he says, writing something down and Lorenzo chuckled and walked toward me, handing me a small package wrapped in brown paper., and a check from the business.

"Your father said this needs to be delivered ASAP. I trust you'll handle it."

I nodded, slipping the package into my bag and adjusting the strap. "Anything else?"

"Tell your father to be careful. Garcia's men have been asking questions around town." Lorenzo's expression darkened. "Things are heating up."

I felt a chill run through me, but I didn't let it show. Garcia was always trouble. The fact that his men were getting closer meant everything was about to escalate. "I'll pass it along."

Lorenzo gave me a serious look. "You know what you're getting into, right?"

I nodded again. "I'm not new to this."

With that, I left the room, heading back to my car. I had a feeling things were about to get worse, and I had no choice but to keep moving forward, regardless of how dangerous it got. My life had always been chaotic, but now, it seemed like I was standing at the edge of something far worse than I had ever imagined.

I made a stop and dropped off the bundle in an abandoned bowling alley parking lot like my father said, and you have to ring the track phone and drive away. The thing you have to be careful to make sure no one accompanies you. Occasionally some cops like to follow and are seeking certain people. It sucks because all I have to do is mention my father's name, and I'm free to go.

I head home and give the money to my father, and he smiles evilly, knowing I'm obeying him.

"Well done," he says, his voice calm, almost too calm. Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks back toward his office. His navy-blue suit sways slightly with his stride, the fabric gleaming faintly under the harsh overhead lights. I can't stand that suit—never could. It's the one he wore to my mother's funeral, the one that always feels like it's wrapped in grief and distance. Every time he wears it, I feel the air in the room shift, cold and oppressive, as if it's carrying all the weight of things unsaid.

He's not even that old, not really—late 40s, a scruffy beard, his hair graying in patches, but there's something about him, some quality that makes him seem older, harder. As he steps into his office, I catch the faintest glimpse of the way his shoulders tense, like he's steeling himself for something. Or maybe it's just me projecting. I've always hated that suit, hated what it represents.

But I don't say anything. I never do.

I walk upstairs and look at Grace texted me to invite us out, only this time in a different bar called Its Anyone's Alcohol. I told her I would meet them there.

Grace 🤍: come to this other bar I found with me and Charlie

Me: fine, I'll meet you there 😘

In my room, I throw on a pair of jeans, slip into my boots, and pull on a red shirt that's just the right shade—bold, confident, and a little daring. A quick swipe of makeup, just enough to feel like myself, and I grab my keys from the nightstand. I'm out the door in a flash, eager to get away from the house and the suffocating atmosphere of my father's presence.

But just before I step out, I hear his voice behind me.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls, his tone too casual, too controlled. I stop, already feeling the weight of what's coming. I turn to face him, standing in the doorway of his office, that same calculating look in his eyes. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I have men out there who are after me... and they'll come for you too."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, the sharpness of the warning slipping into something darker. Something dangerous. My breath catches in my chest, but I hold my ground.

"Okay," I say, trying to steady myself, my voice more composed than I feel. "I'll be careful."

A beat passes before he gives me a nod, but his eyes still don't soften. "I know you will." There's something about the way he says it—more like a command than a reassurance.

I can feel the weight of his protection, his twisted love, wrapped around me, but I don't know whether to feel comforted or trapped. I want to walk out that door and leave all of it behind, but part of me knows it's not that simple. Not with him.