That had been Leo Salvatore?
She had not saved a stranger.
She had saved a monster.
The scarred man’s voice softened, which somehow made it worse. “Mr. Salvatore does not enjoy being ignored.”
“And I don’t enjoy being threatened.”
“This is not a threat.”
“It needs work, then.”
For one dangerous second, silence held.
Then the scarred man laughed.
It was brief and real.
“I see why he wants to meet you.”
Clara’s stomach turned.
Marla came around the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. Her voice shook despite the steel she tried to put into it.
“She’s working.”
The scarred man glanced at Marla. “Her shift is over.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He placed a second envelope on the counter.
Marla did not touch it.
“What’s that?”
“Compensation.”
Clara stepped forward. “Don’t.”
Marla looked at her, then at the envelope, then at the three men in suits. Her face twisted with shame before she even opened it.
Money had a smell. Clara knew it. It smelled like choices disappearing.
Marla opened the envelope.
Her eyes widened.
Clara felt something inside her sink.
“I’m not going,” Clara said.
The scarred man nodded toward the window.
A black car waited outside, engine purring, rain sliding over its polished hood.
“We can stand here all night,” he said. “People will start asking why men like us are in a diner like this. Then they’ll ask about you. Then your brother.”
The world narrowed.
