Chapter 2
The heavy glass door of Bellanova clicked shut.
Rain slicked the dark asphalt outside.
Inside, the jazz band played on, entirely unaware of the near-disaster that had just bypassed them.
Emma Parker stood frozen behind the service counter.
Her hands trembled against the cold marble surface.
The receipts fluttered slightly in the draft from the kitchen door.
The false bartender, whose name tag read "Leo," wiped down the brass rail with agonizing slowness.
He didn't look at her right away.
He let the silence stretch, tightening like a wire pulled to its breaking point.
Then, he turned his head.
His narrow eyes met hers in the mirror above the liquor bottles.
A slow, sickening smile spread across his thin lips.
“You shouldn’t have done that, student,” Leo muttered, his voice barely carrying over the saxophone.
Emma swallowed hard.
Her throat felt dry as sand.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered back, her fingers curling into her apron.
Leo tossed his bar towel onto the counter.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a burner phone.
His thumb moved across the keypad with practiced speed.
“The boss isn't going to like that his trap was ruined,” Leo said softly, never breaking eye contact. “And he hates loose ends even more.”
The heavy steel door at the back of the kitchen swung open.
Chef Marco stepped out, wiping flour from his apron.
“Emma! Table four needs bread baskets immediately!” Marco shouted over the ambient noise.
The spell broke.
Leo pocketed his phone and turned to pour a gin and tonic for an oblivious patron.
Emma exhaled a breath she didn't realize she’d been holding.
Her legs felt weak.
She grabbed three woven baskets from the warmer.
Every step toward table four felt like walking across thin ice.
The patrons chatted happily, laughing over candlelight.
They had no idea a lethal underworld game had just played out inches from their wine glasses.
Emma reached table four and set down the bread.
Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the ceramic butter dish.
The customer didn't notice, deep in conversation about stock portfolios.
Emma retreated to the shadows of the service station.
Her mind raced through her options.
She could finish her shift, collect her tips, and run.
Or she could walk out right now and never look back.
As she reached for her coat in the employee locker room, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
An unknown number flashed on the screen.
She swiped to answer.
A deep, modulated voice whispered through the speaker.
May you like
“You saved a dead man tonight, Miss Parker. Now you share his grave.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
