Chapter 2 - THE HOSPITAL BILL
At two in the morning, Dante Vanel asked for his check.
He had consumed one glass of whiskey.
His men had barely touched their drinks.
Greg hurried toward him with a leather folder.
“Everything is complimentary, Mr. Vanel.”
Dante looked at the bill.
Then at Greg.
“Nothing is complimentary.”
He placed a black card inside the folder.
Greg nodded so quickly I thought his neck might break.
Dante stood.
Before leaving, he approached me.
I was carrying a tray of empty glasses.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“Your shift ends at six.”
I nodded.
“I'll be outside.”
My stomach tightened.
“Mr. Vanel—”
“Dante.”
“Dante, I didn't agree to anything.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you wait?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Because you didn't say never.”
Then he left.
At six fifteen, I stepped outside into the freezing Manhattan morning.
A black Rolls-Royce waited at the curb.
Dante leaned against it.
He had removed his tie.
His charcoal coat was open.
He looked as though he'd been waiting for five minutes rather than four hours.
“You're late,” he said.
“I had to clean the bar.”
He nodded.
“Understandable.”
I stared at him.
“Did you seriously wait?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I'm beginning to wonder that myself.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
His expression softened.
Then he opened the passenger door.
“Let me drive you home.”
“No.”
“Hospital?”
I froze.
He noticed.
“Your brother is in the hospital.”
I tightened my grip on my handbag.
“How do you know?”
“You mentioned him. Your expression when you received that call told me the rest.”
I looked away.
“I'm going to the hospital.”
“Then I'll take you.”
“I don't know you.”
“No.”
“You could be dangerous.”
His mouth curved without humor.
“I am dangerous.”
That answer surprised me.
Most dangerous men pretended otherwise.
Dante didn't.
He looked toward the street.
“You can take a taxi. You can take the train. Or you can accept a ride. Your choice.”
I hesitated.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Toby.
Lena, Gerald says hurry. He's bored.
Gerald was his plastic dinosaur.
I smiled despite the tears burning my eyes.
Then I looked at Dante.
“Just the hospital.”
He opened the door wider.
“Just the hospital.”
During the drive, he asked almost nothing.
No invasive questions.
No demands.
He simply sat beside me while Manhattan passed beyond the tinted windows.
When we arrived, I reached for the door.
“Elena.”
I stopped.
“Your brother's name?”
“Toby.”
Dante nodded.
“I hope Toby gets better.”
Something about the simplicity of those words broke me.
I had spent months hearing doctors discuss percentages, procedures, and deposits.
Nobody ever said they hoped he would get better.
I whispered, “Thank you.”
Then I hurried inside.
I didn't know that Dante remained in the car for twenty minutes.
Or that he made a phone call before leaving.
“Find out why a ten-year-old boy at NYU Langone is having his surgery delayed.”
May you like
A pause.
“And don't let anyone know I asked.”
