Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW IN THE DOORWAY
The bell above the diner door chimed.
A blast of freezing rain swept inside.
Conversation at the counter died instantly.
Gary froze with a coffee pot in his hand.
Mrs. Patterson stopped chewing her toast.
A tall man in a soaked black suit walked in.
Water dripped from the brim of his wool coat.
His broad shoulders filled the narrow doorway.
His gray eyes swept the room in one cold, calculating pass.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Roman Costa did not look like a man who visited diners on Fifth and Alder.
He looked like the storm outside had taken human form.
Rebecca stood between him and the corner booth.
Her wet sneakers squished against the linoleum.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Step aside, Miss Davis,” Roman said.
His voice was a low, rhythmic baritone.
It carried no warmth.
It carried absolute authority.
Rebecca did not budge an inch.
“She’s drinking tea,” Rebecca said steadily.
Roman’s gaze dropped to her face.
His eyes narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter.
“She is my mother.”
“Then you should have taught her how to cross the street without getting run over.”
Gary dropped a spoon in the kitchen.
The metallic clatter echoed sharply.
Roman took one slow step forward.
The distance between them vanished.
Up close, he smelled of rain, expensive cedar, and cold steel.
“You have a sharp tongue for a waitress,” Roman murmured.
“And you have terrible timing for a son,” Rebecca retorted.
Behind her, Clara’s cane tapped softly against the table leg.
“Roman,” Clara said sharply.
“Stop looming over the girl.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
He looked past Rebecca to his mother.
“Mother. You walked out alone.”
“Because your guards are incompetent oafs,” Clara snapped.
“Miss Davis helped me.”
Roman looked back at Rebecca.
His gaze searched her face for hidden agendas.
Debt collectors.
Rival syndicate spies.
Blackmailers.
He found only exhaustion and stubborn defiance.
“How much?” Roman asked, reaching into his inner coat pocket.
Rebecca’s eyes flared with sudden heat.
“Put your wallet away.”
“I pay for services rendered.”
“I didn't help her for a paycheck.”
Rebecca grabbed a dirty rag from her apron pocket.
“Take your mother home, Mr. Costa.”
“And fix her cane tip.”
Roman stared at her for three long seconds.
Then he slowly withdrew his empty hand.
May you like
“Get your coat, Mother,” Roman said softly, never breaking eye contact with Rebecca.
“We are leaving.”
