Page 96 of Unlocking Melodies

“No, you never do. And yet somehow I always end up cleaning up your messes.” The rope was starting to really burn now, but the physical pain was almost welcome - a distraction from the emotional tornado brewing in my chest. “Though I have to say, this is a new low even for you. What happened to just leaving IOUs and disappearing in the middle of the night?”

A sound outside made us both freeze. Footsteps, heavy and purposeful, approaching the barn door. His dad’s face went even paler, which I wouldn't have thought possible given his current complexion.

“Listen to me,” he whispered urgently. “When they come in, don't... don't tell them anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

But his head had already slumped forward again, either from pain or convenient timing - it was always hard to tell with his dad.

The footsteps grew closer, and suddenly I found myself praying - not for myself, but for Ethan. Praying he was safe, that he was looking for me, that he'd figure out whatever mess my father had dragged us into this time.

Because that's what his father did - he created messes that other people had to clean up. And somehow, despite everything, despite all my attempts to break free from his orbit, I was still getting pulled into his chaos.

The barn door creaked open, letting in a shaft of moonlight that did nothing to illuminate the situation. But as heavy boots approached our corner, one thought kept circling in my mind:

At least Luna was safe with Caleb. And if I made it out of this, I was definitely upgrading her to the fancy cat food she'd been eyeing at the pet store.

Assuming, of course, that his father’s latest disaster didn't get us both killed first.

A slow clap echoed through the barn, the kind of dramatic entrance even small-town theater would consider over the top. Harsh light suddenly flooded our corner, making me wish I'd paid more attention when Nina lectured about proper stage lighting techniques - at least then I'd know how to look good while being dramatically illuminated in a hostage situation.

The man who emerged from the shadows looked like he'd raided a Bond villain's wardrobe sale - sleek black suit sans shirt (because apparently evil masterminds don't believe in proper business attire), and hair so perfectly styled it probably had its own insurance policy. Two human mountains flanked him, their suits straining against muscles that definitely weren't achieved through Oakwood Grove's local gym membership.

“Welcome, Jimmy.” His voice dripped with the kind of practiced menace that suggested he practiced monologues in his mirror. “I am Gianluca Moretti. Your father and I have... business arrangements.”

Great. Not just a villain, but one who paused dramatically mid-sentence. This day just kept getting better.

“Let me guess,” I drawled, channeling my inner Nina-dealing-with-difficult-customers voice, “you're the reason he's been even more absent than usual from the Father of the Year competition?”

Moretti's laugh was like expensive whiskey laced with arsenic. “Oh, I like this one, Gary. So much more spirit than you led me to believe.” He circled us slowly, every movement calculated for maximum theatrical effect. “Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, he was worth quite a lot in our negotiations.”

My brain stuttered on that last part. “I'm sorry, what negotiations?”

Instead of answering, Moretti grabbed Gary's hair, yanking his head back with unnecessary flourish. My father's pained gasp made something in my chest constrict, despite everything.

“Tell him, Gary.” Moretti's smile was all teeth. “Tell your son about our little arrangement. About how you offered him as collateral for your debts.”

The words hit like ice water. I turned to my father, hoping to see denial, resistance, anything. Instead, he wouldn't meet my eyes.

“Don't... hurt him,” Gary managed, voice barely a whisper. “Please. I'll get the money.”

“Dad?” The word came out smaller than I meant it to. Younger. Like I was eighteen again, finding another empty house, another apologetic note.

“How touching.” Moretti released Gary's hair with a dramatic flourish. “Father trying to protect son. Though a bit late for that, wouldn't you say? Considering you're the one who led us right to him.”

My mind raced through implications, each worse than the last. “So what, I'm supposed to be impressed by this whole production? The creepy barn, the dramatic lighting, the hired muscle? Hate to break it to you, but I've seen better staging at The Watering Hole's karaoke nights.”

One of the muscle mountains actually cracked a smile before Moretti's glare shut him down. Score one for small-town snark.

“Your father owes me quite a substantial sum,” Moretti continued, clearly annoyed at having his villain moment disrupted. “But more importantly, he owes me information. Information that somehow ended up in your possession.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but amnesia patient here.” I nodded toward my head. “Can barely remember my coffee order most days, let alone whatever schemes he's gotten mixed up in.”

Moretti's smile turned predatory. “Oh, but that's exactly why you're so valuable. You see, your father here managed to hide some very important files before his... accident. Files that might have found their way to you before your own unfortunate memory loss.”

The way he said “accident” made my blood run cold. Beside me, Gary had gone completely still.

“And now,” Moretti spread his arms like a demented game show host, “here we all are. One big happy family reunion. Though I must admit, I'm disappointed Ethan Cole couldn't join us. He would have made this so much more interesting.”

---