Page 47 of Letters From Victor

I walked to the window and looked out over the city. Los Angeles sprawled beneath me, a maze of possibilities. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to walk away, to leave all of this behind and build something new. Something honest. The thought drifted like smoke—fleeting, weightless. And I dismissed it just as quickly.

Returning to my desk, I flipped open the silver case, pulled another cigarette, and lit it. The first drag filled my lungs with a familiar burn, temporarily blotting out the deeper pains.

Barbara was no fool. She could make her own choices. But choices had consequences, and she needed to understand whatshe was risking. Not just with Frank, but with her son, with her family. With me.

I picked up the phone and dialed Barbara’s home number. After two rings, her angelic voice drifted through the receiver.

“Hello, gorgeous. Can I take you out to lunch today?”

21

BARBARA

“Lunch today?” I glanced at the clock on the front table. “Sounds divine, but I just got Frankie down for his nap.” I hesitated. “And Frank has the car.”

“Oh, angel, I know.” Victor’s voice was languid and smooth as velvet. “He paid me a visit.”

I almost dropped the phone. “Come again?”

“He stopped by to chat,” he said, like it was nothing.

My heart beat against my ribs, frantic as a caged bird trying to break free. What had Frank said? What did he know? My knuckles strained as I gripped the receiver tighter.

“Barbara? You still there?”

“Yes. I’m here.” I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath. “What did he want?”

“Hmm, to size me up, I think.”

I could almost see Victor—reclining in his leather chair, feet propped on his desk, phone cradled casually against his ear, a smug half-smile playing on his lips. He enjoyed this far too much.

I closed my eyes, pressure building behind them like an impending storm. “Victor, please tell me.”

The silence on the other end stretched for an agonizing moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Serious. “He came to tell me you’d no longer be working for me.”

A short burst of incredulous laughter bubbled from my lips. “Of course he did,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him the truth,” Victor said. “That it’s your decision, not his.”

I leaned back against the wall. Relief and dread swirled together in my stomach like a volatile cocktail.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “He backed down. For now.”

For now. The words hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

“Barbara,” Victor said, his voice softer now, almost tender. “Say something, sweetheart.”

I pressed the receiver against my temple as if I could pull Victor’s warmth through the phone. “I’m just thinking.” The silence on the line crackled.

“Think over lunch,” Victor suggested. “You need to eat.”

I bit my lip, glancing at the kitchen. The remains of a hastily made sandwich lay abandoned on the counter. “Victor.” I hesitated. “Frankie is asleep. I can’t leave him.”

“When will he be up?”

“Around two,” I said, winding the telephone cord around my index finger so tightly the skin turned purple.

“I’ll come by and pick you both up,” he offered, his voice like melted chocolate—rich, smooth, and irresistible.

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