Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO WASN'T AFRAID ENOUGH
“Who did this?”
Vincent Castellano's question hung over the diner.
Derek Lawson stood beside the overturned table, his expensive watch catching the fluorescent light.
For the first time that evening, he seemed uncertain.
“It was an accident,” he said.
Vincent looked down at Amelia Hayes.
She hadn't moved.
A thin line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth onto the black-and-white tile.
“An accident,” Vincent repeated.
“She got aggressive. I was defending myself.”
One of Derek's friends shifted uncomfortably.
Vincent noticed.
“What's your name?”
The young man swallowed.
“Ryan. Ryan Mercer.”
“Ryan, did that woman attack your friend?”
Ryan looked at Derek.
“Don't,” Derek warned.
Vincent's voice remained quiet.
“I'm asking Ryan.”
“No, sir,” Ryan whispered. “She asked Derek to leave. He hit her.”
Derek turned crimson.
“You coward.”
Vincent didn't raise his voice.
“Another word, and you'll explain yourself to the police while I explain what happened to the paramedics.”
At the counter, seventy-year-old waitress Margaret Bell crossed herself.
She had worked at Castellano's Diner since Vincent's mother was alive.
In twenty-six years, she had never seen Vincent look quite like this.
Not angry.
Worse.
Heartbroken.
He crouched beside Amelia again.
“Stay with us, sweetheart,” Margaret whispered.
Vincent gently checked that Amelia was breathing.
“She has a pulse. Nobody moves her unless the paramedics tell us to.”
Derek glanced toward the entrance.
Two broad-shouldered men stood near the door.
Neither had touched him.
Neither needed to.
“You can't hold me here,” Derek said.
“You're free to speak to the officers when they arrive.”
Vincent stood.
“Until then, don't go anywhere near her.”
Derek gave a nervous laugh.
“Do you know who my father is?”
Vincent studied him.
“Should I?”
“Richard Lawson.”
Margaret dropped the clean towel she was carrying.
Vincent noticed that, too.
Richard Lawson was a powerful Manhattan property developer whose political connections stretched from City Hall to Albany.
And twenty-six years earlier, Richard had helped Vincent's mother save this very diner from foreclosure.
Or that was the story everyone believed.
“Your father's name doesn't change what happened here,” Vincent said.
Derek's face tightened.
“You really don't understand.”
“Then enlighten me.”
“My father owns the building.”
For three seconds, nobody spoke.
Vincent slowly turned toward Margaret.
She stared at the floor.
“Margaret?”
Her eyes filled.
“Vincent, I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Before she could answer, Amelia made a small, broken sound.
Vincent immediately turned.
Her eyelids fluttered.
“Where am I?”
“You're at the diner,” Margaret said, kneeling beside her. “An ambulance is coming.”
Amelia tried to sit up.
Pain shot through her head.
“Please. I have to finish my shift.”
Vincent felt something twist inside his chest.
“You're hurt. Don't move.”
She looked at him with frightened hazel eyes.
Then at Derek.
Her breathing quickened.
“No. Please don't let him near me.”
“He won't touch you again,” Vincent promised.
Derek scoffed.
“Oh, come on. She's acting.”
Amelia flinched at his voice.
Vincent stood between them.
“Look at me, Amelia,” he said gently.
She did.
“You're safe right now.”
The ambulance arrived four minutes later.
As the paramedics examined her, a police officer began questioning Derek.
Derek confidently repeated his story about self-defense.
Vincent said nothing.
Instead, he pointed toward the security camera above the cash register.
“Margaret. Save the recording.”
Margaret looked away.
“Mr. Castellano…”
“Save it.”
“The camera hasn't worked since Sunday.”
Vincent stared at her.
“Who told you that?”
“Your office.”
“My office?”
She nodded miserably.
“Mr. Bellamy sent someone to disconnect it.”
Frank Bellamy was Vincent's chief financial officer.
For eighteen years, Frank had managed the legitimate accounts belonging to Vincent's businesses.
Vincent had trusted him with everything from restaurant payroll to shipping contracts.
Including the diner.
His mother's diner.
A paramedic approached.
“Mr. Castellano, we're transporting her to Bellevue. She has a suspected concussion and possible facial fracture.”
“I'll follow.”
Amelia reached for his sleeve.
“Please…”
Vincent leaned closer.
“What's wrong?”
She looked toward Derek.
“Don't let him find out where I live.”
Vincent's expression softened.
“He won't get your address from me.”
Her fingers tightened around his sleeve.
“And don't call my husband.”
Vincent went still.
“Your husband?”
“My ex-husband,” she corrected shakily. “Nathan Hayes. Please. He'll say I caused this.”
Before Vincent could answer, Amelia looked over his shoulder.
Derek was staring at her.
Not with anger anymore.
With recognition.
Then he smiled.
It was a small, ugly smile.
“Amelia Hayes,” Derek said.
Her face went white.
“You didn't tell me your last name.”
Vincent stepped toward him.
“Explain.”
Derek folded his arms.
“Nothing to explain.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
Derek glanced at Amelia.
“Small world.”
The paramedics wheeled her outside.
Vincent watched until the ambulance doors closed.
Then he turned to Ryan Mercer.
“You knew her?”
Ryan shook his head.
“I swear I didn't.”
“Did Derek?”
Ryan hesitated.
Vincent waited.
Finally, Ryan whispered, “He showed us her photograph before we came in.”
Derek lunged toward him.
One of Vincent's security men intercepted him without striking him.
“Shut your mouth!” Derek shouted.
Vincent felt the room narrow around him.
“What photograph?”
Ryan reached into his jacket and removed his phone.
His fingers trembled as he opened a group message.
Three photographs appeared.
All of Amelia.
One showed her entering her Brooklyn apartment building.
Another showed her serving coffee at the diner.
The third had been taken through her apartment window.
Vincent stared at the screen.
“Who sent these?”
Ryan swallowed.
“Derek did.”
“And who gave them to Derek?”
Ryan looked toward his friend.
“I don't know.”
Derek suddenly stopped struggling.
“Go ahead,” he said to Vincent. “Look at the last message.”
Vincent took the phone.
Beneath the photographs was a short instruction.
Make sure the waitress understands she isn't untouchable anymore.
No sender's name appeared in the screenshot.
But underneath was a photograph of a man's hand resting on a steering wheel.
The hand wore a silver ring shaped like a coiled serpent.
Vincent recognized the ring.
He had seen it seventeen years earlier.
On the hand of the man his daughter Sophia had been afraid to name.
Vincent looked up slowly.
“Where did you get this?”
Derek smiled again.
“My father said you'd recognize it.”
Margaret made a strangled noise.
Vincent barely heard her.
Because the ring belonged to a man Vincent had spent seventeen years believing was beyond his reach.
May you like
And that man had just sent a message through a bleeding waitress.
“Tell Castellano,” Derek whispered, “that Sophia wasn't the last woman who kept his secrets.”
