Chapter 3 - The Name on the Kill List
“Yesterday?”
Aurora's voice sounded foreign to her own ears.
She snatched the dispatch sheet from Damian's hand and stared at her name.
The letters were ordinary.
That somehow made them more frightening.
AURORA BENNETT.
Her full name.
Her workplace.
An instruction suggesting she was never supposed to survive the evening.
“I didn't even know you were coming tonight,” she whispered.
Damian looked at her.
“Your manager knew.”
The words struck harder than the gunfire.
Frederick Dane had been Aurora's manager for almost two years.
He had approved her shifts, criticized her uniforms, and threatened to deduct breakage from her paycheck whenever a customer complained.
He had also insisted she work Tuesday evening after another waitress called in sick.
Aurora remembered protesting.
She had already worked six consecutive days.
Frederick had told her she could either take the shift or find another job.
Her stomach twisted.
“Frederick scheduled me.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“Then we need to know who scheduled him.”
Leo turned sharply onto a quieter street.
Police sirens echoed somewhere behind them.
Aurora glanced at the injured driver.
He was growing pale.
“Please,” she said. “He needs a hospital.”
This time Damian didn't argue.
“Northwestern Memorial,” he ordered. “Public entrance. We'll deal with the rest there.”
Leo nodded.
But two blocks later, his hands slipped on the steering wheel.
The sedan drifted toward the curb.
Damian lunged forward and steadied it.
“Leo!”
“I'm all right.”
“You can barely see.”
Damian told him to stop.
They changed places in the rain.
Aurora helped Leo into the back seat, pressing her folded restaurant apron against his bleeding shoulder.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Leo caught her wrist.
“Miss Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“I saw the men gathering behind the restaurant. I should've come inside sooner.”
Aurora pressed harder against the wound.
“You came back for us. That's what matters.”
Leo closed his eyes.
At the hospital, emergency staff rushed him into treatment.
Damian stayed beside Aurora while police officers separated them for questioning.
Detective Elena Price arrived shortly after midnight.
She was in her forties, with tired eyes and a manner that suggested she had spent years listening to people lie.
She placed Aurora's original restaurant receipt inside a clear evidence sleeve.
The red warning remained visible.
Gunman behind you. Deal gone wrong. Exit now.
“You wrote this?”
Aurora nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I saw a man watching Mr. Russo through the mirror.”
Detective Price listened without interrupting.
Aurora described the gloves, the trench coat, Carmine tapping his glass, and the stranger reaching inside his jacket.
When she finished, Price studied her.
“You noticed all that while serving tables?”
“My mother was a hospital receptionist for twenty-three years,” Aurora answered. “She used to tell me that people show you what they're afraid of before they tell you what they want.”
Price wrote something down.
“And you believed Mr. Russo was in danger?”
“Yes.”
“Did you understand who he was?”
Aurora looked toward the corridor where Damian waited.
“I knew people were frightened of him.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Aurora met her eyes.
“I knew enough.”
Price leaned back.
“Then why risk your life?”
Aurora considered the answer.
“Because someone was about to shoot a man sitting at my table. I didn't think his reputation made that acceptable.”
For the first time, Price's expression softened.
But then another detective entered.
He handed Price a tablet.
She watched the screen.
Her face changed.
“Aurora,” she said carefully, “we have a problem.”
The footage showed the St. Regis service corridor at 10:08 p.m.
A woman wearing Aurora's black uniform stood beside a man in a trench coat.
The man handed her an envelope.
She tucked it into her apron.
The image was grainy.
But the woman's face appeared unmistakable.
Aurora stared in disbelief.
“That isn't me.”
Price replayed the footage.
The woman's hair was arranged in Aurora's usual low bun.
Her name tag read BENNETT.
She even wore the same silver bracelet Aurora had received from her mother.
“That isn't me,” Aurora repeated.
“Can you explain why someone wearing your name tag was meeting one of the suspects?”
“No!”
The detective beside Price crossed his arms.
“Maybe you can explain the envelope.”
Aurora felt the room shrinking around her.
“I never accepted an envelope.”
Price remained calm.
“Do you have anyone who can confirm where you were at 10:08?”
Aurora tried to remember.
She had been clearing table nineteen.
Or perhaps pouring water for the elderly couple near the windows.
Her shift had been chaotic.
“I don't know.”
The other detective sighed.
“That's unfortunate.”
Aurora looked toward the hallway.
“Ask Damian. He knows I warned him.”
“Warning a man doesn't necessarily mean you weren't involved in a plan that went wrong,” Price said.
Aurora stared at her.
“You think I helped those men?”
“I think someone wants us to believe you did.”
That distinction mattered.
But it didn't make Aurora feel safe.
An hour later, Damian was allowed into the interview room.
He carried two paper cups of coffee.
Aurora refused hers.
“They have a video.”
“I know.”
“A woman dressed like me takes money from the gunman.”
Damian sat across from her.
“You didn't.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I watched you when you handed me that folder. You were terrified, and you were still trying to protect the people sitting around us.”
Aurora's eyes filled.
“You barely know me.”
“I know what you did.”
She looked down at her mother's bracelet.
A small compass charm hung from the clasp.
Her mother used to say it was a reminder that losing your way wasn't the same as losing yourself.
Aurora twisted the charm between her fingers.
“Someone copied this bracelet.”
Damian leaned forward.
“What?”
“In the video. The woman is wearing my bracelet.”
“Are you certain?”
“I've worn it every shift since my mother died.”
Damian studied the charm.
Then he reached for his vintage watch.
It had stopped during the attack.
The hands rested at 10:15.
“My father gave me this,” he said. “He told me not to confuse knowing a person's name with knowing their character.”
Aurora almost smiled.
“Your father sounds wiser than the people around you.”
“He was.”
Damian turned the watch over.
An inscription was engraved across the case.
A MAN IS MEASURED BY WHO GETS HOME.
Before Aurora could respond, Detective Price returned.
She was carrying a photograph recovered from the vehicle abandoned behind the restaurant.
It showed Aurora leaving her apartment building three days earlier.
Another showed her visiting her mother's grave.
A third had been taken through the restaurant window.
Damian stood.
Price placed the photographs on the table.
“We've confirmed someone was following Miss Bennett before tonight.”
Aurora felt suddenly sick.
“Why?”
Price's expression was grim.
“We're trying to establish that.”
Then she turned to Damian.
“Mr. Russo, there's something else.”
She showed him the final photograph.
It captured a black sedan parked across from Aurora's apartment.
A man stood beside it, his face clearly visible.
Damian gripped the edge of the table.
Aurora had never seen him look so stunned.
“Who is he?” she whispered.
May you like
Damian answered without taking his eyes from the photograph.
“That's Graham Vale.”
