Chapter 3
The Envelope Left Behind
By two in the morning, the dining room was empty.
The crystal chandeliers had been dimmed to a warm amber glow.
The kitchen staff scrubbed the stainless steel counters with harsh lemon bleach.
I unpinned my black hair, letting the dark strands fall over my shoulders.
I untied my black apron and dropped it into the laundry hamper.
My shift was over.
My nightmare was just beginning.
Simon intercepted me near the back employee exit.
His face was the color of curdled milk.
“What the hell did you say to Dominic Pierce?” Simon hissed, grabbing my forearm.
His grip was surprisingly tight.
“I did my job, Simon,” I pulled my arm away.
“He tried to humiliate me in a language he thought I didn't know.”
“He’s a monster, Clara!” Simon whispered frantically, looking over his shoulder at the empty alley.
“Men like Dominic don't lose face. They make people disappear!”
“Let him try,” I said coldly.
I pushed past him and stepped out into the damp, freezing Manhattan night.
The wind whipped down the narrow side street off Park Avenue.
The city lights blurred behind a rising wall of mist.
I pulled my wool coat tightly around my throat.
I walked briskly toward the subway entrance three blocks away.
Every shadow in the alcoves looked elongated.
Every engine roar sounded like a idling sedan tracking my steps.
When I reached the subway turnstile, I dropped my MetroCard into the slot.
The gate clicked open.
I descended the concrete steps into the subterranean roar of the downtown express.
The platform was nearly deserted.
Only a man in a dark trench coat stood at the far end, reading an old newspaper.
He didn't look up as I approached.
As the train screeched into the station, the doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
I stepped inside the empty car.
Just as the doors began to close, a gloved hand caught the rubber edge.
A woman slipped into the car a fraction of a second before it pulled away.
It was Natalia.
She didn't sit across from me.
She stood right beside the metal pole, her fur-lined collar turned up against the chill.
“You’re brave, little translator,” Natalia said quietly over the rattling wheels.
“Or you’re suicidal.”
“Neither,” I said, gripping the overhead strap.
“I just don't like being talked down to.”
Natalia reached into her pocket.
She slid a heavy cream-colored envelope across the plastic bench toward my feet.
“Dominic is auditing your father’s old medical records tomorrow morning,” Natalia said softly.
“He owns the hospital board in Queens. He’s looking for leverage.”
She turned toward the sliding doors as the train began to slow down for the next stop.
“If you want to survive the week, open that envelope before dawn.”
The train stopped.
May you like
The doors opened.
Natalia stepped out into the dark tunnel platform and vanished into the crowd before I could even draw a breath.
