Chapter 3 - MARINO’S DINER
Marco fired me the following afternoon.
Technically.
I went to Marino’s to collect my schedule.
He would not look at me.
“Ava, we have to let you go.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“What insurance?”
“You fell.”
“At work.”
“You were already injured.”
“You scheduled me anyway.”
His mouth tightened.
“You didn't disclose the extent.”
I almost laughed.
“We don't have health forms, Marco.”
Customers were listening.
Good.
“Just take the week.”
“You said let me go.”
“Ava.”
“Which one?”
He lowered his voice.
“You've got problems following you.”
There.
“What problems?”
He looked toward the windows.
“Men.”
My pulse changed.
“Jake?”
Marco’s face gave him away.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“Marco.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“He came in a few times.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“He said he was your kid’s father.”
“That is not an answer.”
Marco looked exhausted.
“He paid me.”
My stomach dropped.
“For what?”
“Nothing bad.”
Words people say immediately before describing something bad.
“Your schedule.”
I stopped breathing.
“When you worked.”
“When you picked Emma up.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred.”
I slapped the counter with my good hand.
Several people jumped.
“You sold him my schedule for five hundred dollars?”
“I didn't know—”
“She's three.”
“I thought it was custody stuff.”
“As though that makes it better?”
Marco started apologizing.
Too late.
Then Luca’s voice came from behind me.
“It doesn't.”
I turned.
Black coat.
Dante beside him.
Marco went pale.
“Mr. Castellano.”
Luca ignored him.
He looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Good answer.
Then to Marco:
“You're going to preserve every text Jake sent you.”
Marco nodded rapidly.
“You're going to give them to her attorney and investigators.”
“Yes.”
“And you're not deleting anything.”
“No.”
I looked at Luca.
“You don't own this diner.”
“No.”
“So stop sounding like you do.”
His mouth almost moved.
“Fair.”
Marco looked confused.
Good.
Rachel later confirmed my firing created its own employment problem.
Workers’ compensation claim.
Potential retaliation.
Unpaid overtime records.
Apparently Marino’s had been rounding my hours down for years.
Not dramatically.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Small theft multiplied.
I felt stupid for never noticing.
Rachel said:
“People who are trying to survive do not have time to audit every institution around them.”
That helped.
A little.
Then Marchetti—the doctor, not Vincent—examined my ankle.
Severe sprain.
No fracture.
Boot.
Rest.
Actual rest.
Four to six weeks before I could safely work a full diner shift.
I nearly cried.
“How am I supposed to pay rent?”
Luca stood near the window.
I immediately pointed at him.
“No.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“Your face did.”
The doctor wisely left.
Luca sat opposite me.
“You’re entitled to workplace injury benefits.”
“If Marco fights it?”
“Rachel handles it.”
“And until then?”
“You have savings?”
I laughed.
He nodded.
“Right.”
Then:
“I can lend—”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He surprised me again.
“What?”
“You said no.”
He looked irritated.
“I am capable of learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Yes.”
Then he placed a document down.
Temporary witness-security reimbursement.
Housing and necessary expenses related to the active investigation could legally be covered because Jake and Vincent had targeted me in connection with the corporate fraud case.
Not charity.
Documented.
Audited.
Optional.
I read it.
“Rachel approved this?”
“She rewrote half of it.”
“Then maybe.”
Luca nodded.
No victory smile.
Good.
Then my phone rang.
Mrs. Chen.
I answered.
Her voice came fast.
“Ava. Jake here.”
My whole body tightened.
“Where?”
“Lobby.”
I stood too quickly.
Pain shot through my ankle.
Luca caught the table, not me.
Letting me balance myself.
Learning.
Mrs. Chen continued:
“He says he has court paper.”
“What paper?”
May you like
“He says take Emma.”
My blood turned cold.
