CHAP 2 — Vinnie the Rat
Vinnie cornered me near the service station before the steak was ready.
“You deaf?” he hissed.
“No.”
“I said get rid of him.”
“He ordered dinner.”
“He looks homeless.”
“He has money.”
Vinnie laughed under his breath.
“You think this place runs on sympathy? People come here to feel rich, not guilty.”
I picked up the coffee pot.
“Then maybe they should order dessert.”
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.
Not hard enough to bruise.
Hard enough to remind me he could.
“You forget who signs your schedule.”
I looked down at his fingers.
“Let go.”
For a second, he seemed surprised.
Then he released me with a nasty smile.
“You’ve got a sick father, right? Sister in school? Rent overdue?”
My stomach tightened.
He leaned closer.
“People like you survive because people like me allow it. Don’t start confusing a uniform with dignity.”
The kitchen noise carried on behind us.
Plates clattering.
A cook calling orders.
Rain against the windows.
Nobody came to help.
Not because they didn’t care.
Because everyone at Lombardi’s had something Vinnie could threaten.
Work visas.
Child support.
Medical bills.
A record.
A mother in Queens.
A brother needing bail.
Vinnie collected pain the way other managers collected wine keys.
I pulled my wrist back fully and said, “The steak is going to table six.”
His face hardened.
“Then you can leave with him.”
I carried the coffee to Dante’s booth with hands that shook only slightly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“Manager giving you trouble?”
“Always.”
“Why stay?”
I set the cup down.
“Because hospitals don’t accept dignity as payment.”
His eyes sharpened.
I regretted saying it immediately.
“I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”
“It was honest.”
“Honest doesn’t get tips.”
“Depends who’s listening.”
I looked away.
Dante wrapped both hands around the coffee cup but did not drink. He watched the front windows through the reflection of the silverware.
Like he was expecting someone.
Or avoiding someone.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He glanced at me.
For one second, the mask slipped.
“No.”
The answer was so plain it startled me.
Then he looked back toward the rain.
“But I will be.”
I should have walked away.
Instead, I lowered my voice.
“There’s a service hallway near the kitchen if you need to avoid someone outside.”
He studied me.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you’ve checked the window six times, your left hand is bruised, and you sat with your back near the wall.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You always notice this much?”
“When you work for men like Vinnie, you learn where danger stands.”
His smile disappeared.
Before he could answer, the front door opened again.
Two men stepped inside.
Not diners.
Not in that weather.
They wore dark coats and stood too still near the entrance. One looked toward booth six, then at Vinnie.
Vinnie nodded almost imperceptibly.
My blood went cold.
Dante saw it too.
His hand moved near his jacket pocket.
Not reaching.
Preparing.
I placed the dinner plate down in front of him.
“Eat,” I said quietly. “If anyone asks, you’ve been here all night.”
He looked at the steak.
Then at me.
“You have no idea who I am.”
“No,” I said. “But I know who he is.”
I did not know then that Dante Moretti had spent the last eight hours escaping a staged accident, a stolen phone, and men who wanted him dead before he could sign the final purchase documents for Lombardi’s Prime.
May you like
I only knew he was in my section.
And in my section, Vinnie did not get to decide who counted as human.
