Chapter 6 - THE GHOSTS OF BROOKLYN
The morning sun brought no warmth.
Heavy gray clouds hung low over the highway.
Lena opened the diner at dawn, her hands steady despite the events of the previous night.
Jimmy didn't ask questions.
In their world, survival meant knowing when to keep your mouth shut.
At 10:00 AM, the front bell chimed.
A man in an expensive gray suit walked in.
He didn't look like a thug.
He looked like a corporate lawyer carrying a death sentence.
He slid into booth seven.
The exact booth where the trouble had started.
Lena walked over with a pot of coffee.
“Black or with cream?” she asked evenly.
The man looked up.
His eyes were cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of humor.
“Mr. Moretti sends his regards, Mrs. Marquez.”
Lena poured the coffee without spilling a single drop.
“My name is Lena.”
“Names change, Mrs. Marquez,” the man replied smoothly.
“History doesn't.”
He slid a heavy manila envelope across the table.
“Dante wants a meeting.”
“If Matteo doesn't show by midnight tomorrow, the diner burns.”
“And your husband goes back to the federal penitentiary under his real name.”
The man stood up, leaving a hundred-dollar bill on the table.
“Have a nice shift.”
Lena stared at the manila envelope.
Her fingers closed around the edge.
She opened it just enough to see the contents.
Photographs.
Dated yesterday.
Pictures of her walking to her car.
May you like
Pictures of Matteo behind the diner counter.
Pictures of the peaceful life they had built—now sitting in the crosshairs of a ruthless syndicate.
