Page 43 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

The sudden ringtone shatters the quiet. Tabitha blanches. “Sorry. I need to take this.” She lifts the phone with unsteady fingers, answers. I pretend to review fabric swatches across the room, but keep my ear tuned.

“Hey, Grandma Judy! Everything okay?” Pause. Her shoulders stiffen. “That soon?” Another pause—longer. “Yes, of course I’m happy…just surprised. I didn’t think they wanted to pay for the surgery.” Her knuckles whiten. “Insurance cleared it? I… That’s wonderful.”

Something sinks in my gut. What surgery?

She covers the mouthpiece. “Can you—” She gestures toward the door. The request in her eyes is explicit. Privacy. I nod, step outside, and leave the door ajar enough to hear if she calls my name.

Five minutes parade by—slow, muffled. I catch snippets. “…pre-op…” “Thursday…” “…still too much money…” “I’ll figure it out.”

When silence finally falls, I re-enter. She sits exactly where I left her, but her phone dangles from numb fingers, and tears fall in sheets down her cheeks.

Panic makes me cross the space in two strides, kneel, and take her face in my hands. She looks perfect. How can she be sick? “Tabitha, what happened? Are you sick? What’s going on?”

She blots tears with her sleeve. “They scheduled Erin’s surgery. The tumor’s pressing harder on her spinal cord.”

I don’t know if the name should ring a bell. “Forgive me. Who is Erin?”

She hiccups a laugh between her tears, shaking her head. “I can’t…” She wipes her tears away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”

“Please, Tabitha. You can tell me. What’s wrong?”

Her eyes are lined silver as she looks up at me, and it breaks my heart. Her chest heaves, so I offer my hand, and she takes it, clamping tightly. “I can’t…I’m not here for a handout.”

“Fuck, Tabitha, I know that.” I lean toward the opening to the hall, hoping my brothers can here me. “Guys, get in here now!”

To my surprise, they show up in seconds, eyes scanning. Dante is at her side in a flash, sitting next to her on the couch. Sal stands watch just behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, but his eyes on me. He’s furious.

“I didn’t do this,” I explain quickly.

He doesn’t trust it. He kneels next to Tabitha. “What did Nico do?”

She shakes her head, a watery snort filling the silence. “I’m not here for a handout. This is my problem?—”

“Tell us.” His tone brooks no argument.

She nods, blinking rapidly. “My sister…she’s fifteen. Erin. There’s a tumor pressing on her spine and part of her brain stem. She needs surgery to remove it. They’ve tried everything else. Grandma Judy and me, we’ve been taking care of her since my parents died. I dropped out of college to move home and take care of her. I’m working three jobs… Well, I was until I found out about the auction.”

So many pieces fall into place in my mind. None of this was for herself. I should have known. Tabitha isn’t a gold digger or a sugar baby type. She’s not in it for the money—that should have been obvious from the start. I feel like an asshole for not seeing it sooner.

She sold herself to us to save her sister’s life. An indictment of the healthcare industry if I’ve ever heard one.

Between choking words, she continues, “I only have half of what I promised them when your first transfer clears Friday, but that’s…” She inhales a jagged breath. “I can’t be late.”

I grip her hands. “Look at me. We will cover the difference. Tonight. Sal wires seven-figure sums before breakfast. It’s not a problem.”

Her lower lip trembles. “But I—I didn’t want you to feel obliged. I can’t offer you anything beyond what we agreed. I have nothing.”

But she feels like everything.

An ache unfurls behind my ribs. I squeeze her hands, then stand. “We’ve got this. I promise you.”

Sal takes a deep breath and nods an apology to me, then perches on the coffee table, voice steady. “Tabitha, why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

She picks at a loose thread. “Because I never wanted to be…a charity case. I thought if you knew my sister was sick you might feel manipulated, like I only wanted to be here for the money, and that’s not how I—” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t want pity or favors. And I didn’t want you to think I’m not happy to spend time with you guys, because I am.”

Dante drops to a knee, catches her gaze. “We’d never think that about you.”

Her eyes dart between us. “People do. When they realize someone is desperate, suddenly every interaction feels transactional.”

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