Barefoot in the Crossfire

Three days. That was all I had left.

Neither the car nor the house had been sold yet. Mom’s jewelry brought in $50k, and some family friends scraped together another $50k for us. But we were still $300k short. A number that sat on my chest like a stone I couldn’t push off.

I stared down at the résumé in my hand, unable to process a single word. My mind was too loud, thoughts thrashing around like trapped birds. The résumé belonged to the candidate currently inside Mr. Alonzo’s office.

A man in his early thirties. Sharp jawline, dark hair, clean tailored suit that actually fit him—not the sloppy, last-minute interview kind of look. He had a presence. A quiet, contained confidence that made you straighten your posture without realizing why.

The blinds were open. From here I could clearly see the familiar expression on Mr. Alonzo’s face, his default grumpiness level 1, which for him actually meant the interview was going well. Of course, he wasn’t smiling. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile. There had been a time—Hawaii—when he used to smile at me. But those days felt like ancient, dust-coated pages in a book I hadn’t opened in years. I knew they existed, but the edges of their reality were fading.

The candidate stood up. They shook hands. A moment later he stepped out of the office and approached my desk.

I rose to greet him. My shoes were still under the table, and without them he stood a clean head taller than me. He stopped in front of me and offered a slow, polite-but-practiced smile. The kind that told me he knew exactly how he looked and exactly the impression he left.

“Ms. Wonderland,” he said warmly, extending his hand.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

I shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr—” I glanced down at the résumé.

“Barr. Eric Barr,” he supplied quickly.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Mr. Barr.”

He didn’t let go.

If anything, his grip tightened a fraction. Just enough for the air around us to shift.

That’s exactly when the grunt came from behind him. The kind of sound that vibrated in the chest more than the ears.

“I believe you should get going.”

Barr released my hand slowly—too slowly—then gave me one last knowing half-smile before turning toward the elevator. Not a glance back. Not a stutter in his step.

The moment the elevator doors closed behind him, I gathered what was left of my courage and slowly turned toward Mr. Alonzo.

And collided straight into the cold obsidian of his stare. His stare hit me like a physical thing.

Not cold. Not warm.

Something far more dangerous—heated restraint.

A man trying, and failing, to hide an instinct.

His gaze dragged—slowly—from my face down my body…

…to my bare feet.

And then it stayed there.

Not by accident.

Not by surprise.

Stayed.

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

His throat bobbed, once. His fingers tightened around the edge of the doorframe.

Not a nervous tic. A restraint.

He needed to hold onto something solid like he had to stop himself from doing something he shouldn’t.

Then he dragged a massive hand down his face, turned abruptly, and stalked back into his office as if the sight physically burned him.

He didn’t close the blinds.

Of course not.

Control is a performance. And he was performing it for himself more than for me.

Only after he sat—chair’s back turned to the door, completely still—

He’d already seen everything he wasn’t supposed to.

He sat in his chair, rigid, not facing the door— refusing to look at me again.

As if watching me would be a mistake, but not watching me would be a bigger one.

And from this angle, I could tell:

He wasn’t working.

He wasn’t reading.

He wasn’t doing anything.

He was sitting absolutely still, jaw locked tight, fighting himself.

And he left the blinds open.

Only when I glance down and remember: my bare feet.

Shit.

Of course he found it unprofessional. Probably even raged him. I slipped my shoes on as fast as I could. But still I was just starting to think today wasn’t going that bad when the universe decided to mock my naïve optimism.

The one person capable of shattering the fragile peace of this day appeared.

“Hi, love.”

“Matt?” He stood there with that careless ease only he could wear—shoulders relaxed, expression soft, a fake smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As if we hadn’t had that disastrous conversation outside the hospital.

My gaze flicked toward Mr. Alonzo’s office. If he saw Matt talking to me… he wouldn’t hesitate to end me. Professionally, and maybe emotionally.

“Did you miss me?” Matt asked.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he repeated, softer this time.

“Please leave, Matt.”

I couldn’t stop glancing toward Anton’s office. His chair was still turned away, but any second he’d notice Matt’s presence.

“Why are you so anxious?”

He followed my gaze—and froze.

“He’s forcing you not to see me, isn’t he?”

“No, Matt, he’s not forcing me. Now please, just… leave.”

But when I looked back toward Anton’s office, my stomach dropped.

He was already standing behind Matt.

“You heard her,” Anton said, his voice low and lethal. “Leave. Now.”

Matt turned, fire meeting fire.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to her properly. And you don’t get to decide who she speaks to.”

“Oh?” Anton asked, calm in that terrifying, pre-tsunami way of his. “Who says that?”

“I’m saying that.”

“Then let’s ask her.” Anton tilted his head, eyes cutting to me. “Ms. Wonderland, do you want to talk to Matt?”

I froze. I knew what I had to say.

I also knew it would slice Matt open.

“N-no…”

My inner voice screamed yes.

“Do you want him to leave?” Anton asked.

Another pause. Another tiny death.

“Yes.”

“You heard her,” Anton said, lifting an eyebrow.

“This isn’t over, Anton,” Matt spat. “I won’t let you take her away from me. Not her, too.”

“And how exactly are you planning to stop me?”

“I have my ways. And when everything settles, you’ll regret what you’re doing. To us.”

“There is no ‘us’ between you and Alice.” Anton’s tone sharpened. “I warned you on day one. I’m warning you again. Stay away from my assistant. The regret will be mutual, but the cost will be yours.”

The message was crystal clear. If I strayed even a step from the line he demanded, he wouldn’t hesitate to end my career.

My heart cracked for Matt. My eyes burned with unshed tears. But I kept staring at my hands, silent.

A puppet wearing human skin.

I had obligations. I couldn’t afford honesty. Or bravery.

Matt tried one last time.

“Alice… please. Look at me. Tell me you don’t agree with him. Tell me.”

But I couldn’t.

His forest-green eyes dimmed to a stormy grey. He shook his head in disbelief, turned, and walked away.

Anton lingered in front of my desk a moment longer—making sure Matt was truly gone. Then he turned toward his office.

“Good job, Ms. Wonderland. Keep Matt away, and you’ll keep your career.”

He disappeared into his office and closed the door.

My stomach twisted. I wasn’t sure I had ever hated myself more than in that moment.

After I left the office and walked to the subway, I called the number I found for Don Virelli. I had scheduled this call for today. The phone rang, and the same assistant who answered me earlier replied.

“Mr. Virelli’s office. This is Katy. How may I help you?”

“Hi Katy, this is Alice Wonderland. We spoke this morning. Is Mr. Virelli available now?”

“Oh, yes. Please wait, I’m putting you through.”

“...”

“Virelli,” a curt, deep voice confirmed on the other end.

“Hello Mr. Virelli. This is Alice Wonderland—Frank Wonderland’s daughter.---”

“I know who you are.”

“Yes, sir. I’m bothering you just because we’re a little short on the money. Is it possible to give us an extension? We are selling the house. It’s a matter of time now.”

“You have three days. Three days only.”

“Sir, please. I’m begging you. We can pay you extra for this delay, as well…”

“I don’t want extras. I want my money in three days, or you and your sweet sisters will pay in another way.”

“Hey! Keep my sisters out of this. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t ask who did what. But I prefer to collect my fee from sexy little girls than their old dad.”

“If you lay a finger on my sisters, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

“I really would like to see you try, missy. Find the money in three days, or I will charge it as I wish. —”

“Hey! Hey!!”

“biiiiippp”

He hung up in my face. I knew trying to negotiate with a mafia don wasn’t the best idea, but at least I’d tried. There was only one thing left to do—the one thing I dreaded so much that I’d dragged my feet not to try it. But my family’s safety was far more important than my dignity. I dialed a number I’d memorized over the last couple of months. The phone rang once, twice, then was picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello Mr. Alonzo. Can we talk about a private matter?”