Chapter 1 - WHO FIRED HER?
David Kesler forgot how to speak.
Roman stood beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights in a fresh charcoal suit, one hand resting loosely at his side as though he had not been bleeding into my torn apron less than two hours earlier.
Behind him were the same men from the alley.
No guns visible now.
Somehow that made them more frightening.
David’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Then finally:
“Mr. Duca.”
Roman’s gaze dropped to my paycheck on the tile.
“Who fired her?”
David swallowed.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“She arrived forty-five minutes late.”
Roman looked at me.
Rain still dripped from my hair.
My blouse was stained with his blood.
My hands smelled faintly of industrial soap because I had scrubbed them until my knuckles turned pink.
“She arrived late,” Roman said quietly, “because she was keeping me alive.”
David glanced toward me like I had personally arranged this humiliation.
“I had no way of knowing.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Silence.
That sentence landed harder than shouting would have.
Roman bent.
Picked up the envelope.
Then held it out to me.
I hesitated.
“Take it.”
I did.
My fingers shook.
David rushed forward.
“Mr. Duca, if this is about the lease—”
“It is now.”
My head turned.
Lease?
Roman looked around the kitchen.
“At ten tomorrow morning, Laura’s operating agreement is reviewed.”
David went white.
“You can’t do that.”
“I own the building.”
Every cook stopped pretending not to listen.
I stared at Roman.
He had told me only his first name.
Not that he owned one of the most expensive commercial buildings in downtown Chicago.
Not that David apparently feared him more than losing a Michelin recommendation.
Roman continued.
“Until then, Megan remains employed.”
My stomach tightened.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead I felt exposed.
“I don’t want my job because you scared him.”
Roman looked at me.
David actually seemed offended that I was arguing with the man saving me.
Roman’s expression changed slightly.
“What do you want?”
“To not be fired for helping someone survive.”
“Reasonable.”
“And I don’t want special treatment.”
“That may be harder.”
“Why?”
His pale gray eyes held mine.
“Because someone tried to kill me tonight.”
I said nothing.
“And now they know you helped me.”
Cold moved through my body.
David scoffed nervously.
“That sounds dramatic.”
Roman turned toward him.
“You found blood in your alley this evening?”
David froze.
“What alley?”
Roman’s security chief stepped forward.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Scar beneath one eye.
“We traced the attack route,” he said. “The men who stabbed Mr. Duca entered through the service corridor behind this restaurant.”
Every face in the kitchen changed.
My stomach tightened.
The alley.
The bakery.
Laura.
Roman looked at David.
“Who has access to the rear corridor cameras?”
David hesitated.
“Management.”
“Who else?”
“No one.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“Then explain why the footage from 3:50 to 4:30 disappeared.”
David’s face drained.
“I don’t know.”
Roman’s man handed him a tablet.
“Deleted manually.”
David stepped backward.
“I didn’t do that.”
Roman looked at me.
The anger in his face was no longer about my paycheck.
“Megan.”
“Yes?”
“Where is your son?”
My heart stopped.
“Home.”
“With who?”
“My neighbor.”
“Address?”
Fear exploded.
“Why?”
Roman’s security chief spoke before he could.
“Because whoever cleaned the camera footage also accessed Laura’s employee files.”
My mouth went dry.
“All of them?”
“No.”
He turned the tablet toward me.
“One.”
My name filled the screen.
MEGAN CARTER.
Emergency contact.
Home address.
Dependent:
LEO CARTER, AGE FIVE.
I stopped breathing.
Roman’s voice became deadly quiet.
May you like
“Get her son. Now.”
And suddenly losing my job was the smallest problem I had.
