Chapter 2 - Three Black Cars at Breakfast
Marlowe’s first instinct was to close the door.
Her second was to pretend she had never met Roman Vescari.
Her third was the only one she acted on.
She stepped into the hallway.
Roman emerged from the elevator alone.
He wore the same controlled expression she remembered from the snowy street.
Only now there was no panic in it.
That somehow made him more intimidating.
“Your father?” she asked immediately.
“Stable.”
“Good.”
“He asked for Oliver’s blanket before he asked for his phone.”
Marlowe smiled despite herself.
“That sounds promising.”
Roman stopped three feet away.
“He also asked why the woman who helped him was crying in a diner parking lot.”
Marlowe’s smile vanished.
“I wasn’t crying.”
“Apparently my father has excellent eyesight.”
“He was in an ambulance.”
“He notices things.”
“So do you, apparently.”
“Yes.”
That single word contained more weight than she liked.
Oliver appeared behind her wearing dinosaur pajamas.
He stared at Roman.
“Are you the blanket man’s son?”
Roman looked at him.
“I am.”
“Did he get warm?”
“Yes.”
“Then he can bring my blanket back later.”
Roman nodded solemnly.
“I’ll tell him.”
Oliver disappeared toward the kitchen.
Roman looked after him.
Something almost gentle crossed his face.
Then he turned back to Marlowe.
“Breakfast.”
“I told Mateo I need to speak with my manager.”
“I know.”
“I need that job.”
“You were fired because you saved my father.”
“I was fired because I was late.”
“You were late because you saved my father.”
“Roman—”
It was the first time she had used his name.
He noticed.
“I’m not asking you to fight my battles.”
“I haven’t offered.”
She crossed her arms.
“Three SUVs?”
“One belongs to me.”
“And the other two?”
“Security.”
“For breakfast?”
“For me.”
Marlowe stared.
“What exactly do you do?”
Roman paused.
“Import logistics. Commercial property. Private security.”
“That sounds carefully edited.”
“It is.”
She nodded slowly.
“Great.”
He almost smiled again.
“Marlowe, I’m not here to buy your gratitude.”
“Good.”
“I’m here because my father asked me to find out whether losing your job put you or Oliver in danger.”
“Financial danger counts?”
“Yes.”
“Then congratulations. Mystery solved.”
Roman glanced toward the apartment.
The carpet was worn.
A crack ran through the ceiling.
The radiator rattled.
He did not look judgmental.
That was somehow worse.
Marlowe lifted her chin.
“I’m handling it.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because handling something alone and needing to handle it alone are different things.”
She stared at him.
Nobody had said anything like that to her in years.
She disliked how much it affected her.
“I’ll go to breakfast,” she said. “But after that, I speak to Dale myself.”
Roman nodded.
“Agreed.”
The restaurant Roman chose was not one Marlowe would ever have entered voluntarily.
No prices appeared on the menu.
That alone made her suspicious.
Oliver stared at the silverware.
“Mom, there are three forks.”
“We only need one.”
Roman sat across from them.
Mateo took a table farther away.
Marlowe noticed that everyone in the room noticed Roman.
Some greeted him.
Others deliberately avoided looking.
The pattern unsettled her.
Oliver ordered pancakes.
Marlowe ordered coffee.
Roman looked at her.
“Food.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You have diner coffee breath and no breakfast.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re irritating.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She ordered eggs.
Halfway through breakfast, Enzo called.
Roman placed the phone on speaker.
“Marlowe?”
“I’m here.”
“You stole my dignity.”
She blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“You made me wear rockets.”
Oliver leaned across the table.
“They’re space rockets.”
Enzo laughed weakly.
“You must be Oliver.”
“Did my blanket save you?”
A pause.
Then Enzo answered gently.
“Yes.”
Oliver looked satisfied.
“I told Mom it was okay.”
Marlowe looked away before emotion got the better of her.
Enzo continued.
“Marlowe, my son tells me you lost your job.”
“I’ll find another one.”
“My son also tells me you refuse money.”
“I didn’t do anything worth selling.”
Silence.
Roman’s eyes stayed on her.
Then Enzo said something that changed the mood completely.
“That is exactly why you should be careful.”
Marlowe frowned.
“Careful of what?”
“My family has enemies.”
Roman picked up the phone.
“Dad.”
“You wanted honesty.”
“Not over breakfast.”
“I am old. I have no patience for timing.”
Marlowe slowly put down her fork.
“Enemies?”
Roman ended speaker mode.
“We should discuss that privately.”
“No. We should discuss it now.”
Oliver looked between them.
Marlowe softened her voice.
“Buddy, finish your pancakes.”
He nodded.
Roman leaned closer.
“My father has been involved in businesses that create powerful rivalries.”
“Legal businesses?”
Roman did not answer quickly enough.
Marlowe sat back.
“Oh, terrific.”
“We don’t bring trouble to civilians.”
“You showed up with three SUVs.”
“Those protect civilians.”
“From what?”
Roman’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His jaw tightened.
Marlowe saw the screen before he turned it over.
A photograph.
Her van.
Taken from across the street.
Timestamped seven minutes ago.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t insult me.”
Roman looked at Oliver.
Then at Marlowe.
“Someone photographed your van this morning.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Because of your father?”
“Possibly.”
Marlowe stood.
“We’re leaving.”
Roman stood too.
“You should stay with security until I know more.”
“No.”
“Marlowe.”
“I helped an old man. That doesn’t make me part of your world.”
“I know.”
“Then keep your world away from my son.”
Roman did not argue.
He simply nodded.
“You’re right.”
The response surprised her.
“Thank you.”
“But until I know who took that photograph, Mateo follows you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You said I was right.”
“You are. You should not be in my world. That does not mean I’ll pretend someone didn’t just put your child in a surveillance photo.”
Marlowe went cold.
“Oliver was in it?”
Roman hesitated.
That answered everything.
They left through a private side exit.
Mateo drove Marlowe and Oliver back toward the diner while Roman followed in another vehicle.
Marlowe insisted on going.
She needed the paycheck.
She needed Dale to sign the unemployment paperwork.
Most of all, she needed to look him in the eye.
The Bell Street Diner was already crowded when they arrived.
Three black SUVs lined the curb.
Every customer stared through the windows.
Dale stood near the register wearing the nervous smile of a man who had spent twenty minutes regretting his life choices.
Marlowe walked in first.
Roman remained near the door.
That was deliberate.
He wanted everyone to understand she was speaking for herself.
Dale hurried forward.
“Marlowe.”
“Morning.”
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I was under pressure.”
“So was I.”
“I didn’t know the man you helped was…”
He looked at Roman.
Marlowe’s expression changed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You’re sorry because of who he was.”
“No, I’m sorry because—”
“If he had been a homeless man with nobody powerful waiting for him, would I still be fired?”
Dale said nothing.
Marlowe nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
Several customers were listening openly now.
A waitress named Keisha stood behind the counter, arms folded.
Dale lowered his voice.
“I can give you your shifts back.”
“I don’t want them.”
“You came here asking for your job.”
“I came here because I thought I needed it.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
Marlowe continued.
“Then I realized something on the way over.”
Dale frowned.
“What?”
“I’m tired of working for people who think desperation is permission to humiliate me.”
Keisha smiled.
Dale’s face hardened.
“You think these people are going to take care of you forever?”
Marlowe glanced at Roman.
“No.”
Then back at Dale.
“I’m going to take care of me.”
For the first time, Roman looked impressed in a way he did not try to hide.
Dale slapped an envelope onto the counter.
“Your check.”
Marlowe took it.
Before she could turn away, Dale leaned closer.
“You should know something about men like him.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Marlowe paused.
Dale whispered.
“They don’t do favors for free.”
Roman took one step forward.
Marlowe lifted a hand.
He stopped.
She looked directly at Dale.
“Neither did you.”
She walked out.
Outside, Roman said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
“That was well done.”
“I don’t need a review.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“What happens now?”
“You find work.”
“I meant about the photograph.”
Roman’s phone rang.
Mateo answered his first.
His expression changed.
Roman took the call.
Listened.
Said nothing.
Then ended it.
“What?” Marlowe asked.
Roman looked across the street.
At a gray sedan parked beneath a dead streetlamp.
The sedan pulled away.
“We identified the photographer.”
“Who?”
“One of Cal Mercer’s men.”
“Mercer?”
Roman looked toward the diner.
“Your manager’s brother.”
Marlowe stared at him.
Roman continued quietly.
“Dale didn’t fire you only because you were late.”
“What does that mean?”
Roman’s phone buzzed again.
A second photograph appeared.
This one showed Marlowe carrying groceries into her apartment three nights earlier.
Before she ever met Enzo.
Roman’s face went still.
May you like
Marlowe felt the blood leave hers.
“They were watching me before the snow.”
