Page 52 of On You 2

“I know you like little cars, so I stopped by this shop to get you that special birthday present you told me about. Something extra in there too.”

Rami took the package staring at me like he couldn’t process what he was hearing, then he opened up the wrapping and a smile wider than Brooklyn spread across his face.

“Thank you!” He hugged me around my waist, and I patted him on his head.

“He needed something good to happen right now. He’s been worried sick about his brother.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“I, uh.” She stopped talking because Rami was looking between the both of us.

“Go back into your room for me, baby.”

“But Ma.”

“Please, just go. I will call you back out in a bit.”

The look on her face made him stop arguing and he clutched the cars to his chest and disappeared down the hallway.

The second he was gone; her whole body seemed to collapse emotionally, and she led me into the living room with her head hung low.

“Have a seat, Amir.”

I sat down across from her on one of the hard sofa’s she had pillows placed on neatly.

“So, I got a call this morning saying that my older son, Khalil, had stolen a lot of money from some gang I guess.”

My face hardened immediately, but I let her finish talking.

“And I believe it too because he came home earlier last night with money I knew he shouldn’t have. I asked him where he got it from, he said work he’s done around the neighborhood, and then he left back out. I haven’t saw him since then.”

Her fingers shook while wiping under her eyes.

“Now the men are saying that if he doesn’t pay back all of the money by sundown tomorrow, they are going to kill my baby.”

“Damn, how much money is it?”

“$400,000. They said they know that I have connections to the Quatars and I tried explaining that I only cleaned for your family and wasn’t connected like that, but they hung up after demanding I come up with the money.”

“Technically, you didn’t just clean for us. You and my father obviously made children together. And from what I see, I’m not the only one y’all made.”

Her face twisted immediately.

“No. You are, Amir. Their father wasn’t your father.” Her eyes lowered toward the floor.

“Their father was actually Hassan Quatar.”

"My uncle Hassan?"

She nodded.

I leaned back into the couch and stared at her for a second.

"What?"

My voice barely came out above a whisper.

Nothing about this conversation was making sense anymore.