Too Late To Apologize, Mr. Billionaire

My burner phone started buzzing inside my purse, which had been kicked a few feet away.

Lola flicked her wrist at Bella. "Get that."

Bella snatched the cheap black phone and handed it to her mistress.

Lola looked at the screen, her lip curling in disgust.

"Caller ID says 'Papa'," she mocked. "Aww. Is the little girl going to cry to her daddy?"

I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The cold from the marble was seeping into my bones, numbing the pain, grounding me.

"Answer it," I said. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Hollow. Dead.

Lola laughed. "You want me to talk to him? Fine. I’ll tell him to come pick up his trash."

She swiped the screen and hit the speaker button.

"Hello?" Lola screeched into the microphone. "Listen here, old man. Your daughter is a psycho stalker. You need to come get her before I have security throw her in the dumpster where she belongs."

Silence on the other end.

It wasn't a peaceful silence. It was the heavy, suffocating silence of a predator holding its breath before the strike.

Then, a sound.

*CRASH.*

It was the distinct, wet crunch of heavy crystal shattering against a wall.

"Who is this?"

The voice was deep, gravelly, and vibrated with a suppressed violence that made the air in the lobby drop ten degrees.

Lola didn't notice. She was too high on her own power trip.

"I’m the future Mrs. Moretti," she announced. "And you need to teach your daughter some manners. She’s embarrassing herself. Tell her to stay away from Dante, or I’ll make sure she never works in this city again."

"Is she alive?" the voice asked.

It was a simple question, devoid of inflection.

"Barely," Lola laughed. "I had to teach her a lesson. Touched her up a bit. Broke her ugly little necklace."

"You touched her," the voice repeated.

It wasn't a question anymore. It was a confirmation of a death sentence.

"Yeah, I slapped her. What are you going to do about it, grandpa? Sue me?"

"Put her on the phone," the voice commanded.

Lola rolled her eyes but held the phone down toward my face, like she was offering a treat to a dog.

"Daddy wants to say bye-bye."

I looked at the black plastic.

"Papa," I whispered.

"Seraphina," my father said. His voice cracked, just a fraction. "Did they take the necklace?"

"Yes," I said. "They crushed it."

A long exhale on the other end. It sounded like a dragon waking up.

"The pact is void," my father said. "Burn them."

Something sparked in my chest, melting the ice.

"Burn them all," I agreed.

"I am three minutes away," he said. "Stay down. The sky is about to fall."

The line went dead.

Lola scoffed and threw the phone onto the floor, smashing it next to the remains of my mother’s locket.

"Drama queen," she muttered. "Like father, like daughter."

I closed my eyes and listened.

Far off in the distance, over the hum of the city traffic, I heard a rhythmic thumping sound.

*Thwup. Thwup. Thwup.*

It was getting louder, a beating heart of steel closing in.