Chapter 2 - THE MAN WITH THE MATCHING SCAR
At 8:13 the next morning, a black sedan stopped outside Eddie's Diner.
Sarah saw it through the window while she was stacking clean mugs.
Only one vehicle this time.
A man stepped out.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark overcoat. Black hair threaded with a little silver at the temples.
He looked approximately thirty-seven.
There was nothing theatrical about him.
No obvious display of wealth beyond the coat and the car.
But when he entered, the two construction workers near the door fell silent.
Sarah knew immediately.
Bella's father.
He approached the counter.
"Coffee," he said.
"How do you take it?"
"Black."
She poured.
He watched her hands.
"You're Sarah?"
Her pulse jumped.
"Yes."
"My daughter was here yesterday."
"She was very polite."
"She liked your pancakes."
Sarah attempted a smile.
"Our cook will be happy to hear that."
The man sat.
"Adrian Moretti."
The name hit her like a physical blow.
She knew that name.
Everyone who had ever worked in certain corners of New York knew that name.
Adrian Moretti controlled shipping interests, private security companies, restaurants, and construction businesses throughout the city.
He was also rumored to lead one of the most powerful criminal organizations on the East Coast.
Sarah set down the coffee pot.
"Nice to meet you."
His expression didn't change.
"Bella told me something unusual."
Sarah felt the floor tilt.
"Children say unusual things."
"She said you have a scar."
Sarah looked toward the kitchen.
Eddie was humming while flipping eggs.
Adrian continued.
"On your left arm."
She swallowed.
"An old accident."
"That's what she said."
He lifted his left sleeve.
And Sarah stopped breathing.
The scar was there.
Same location.
Same size.
A circular mark beneath the elbow.
But there was another detail.
A thin white line extending toward the wrist.
She knew that line.
She had seen it once before.
Under fluorescent emergency lighting.
With blood on the floor.
And a man telling her to run.
Adrian studied her face.
"You recognize it."
Sarah stepped backward.
"No."
He didn't move.
"Sarah."
"Please don't."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
His eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
She stared.
And whispered:
"Someone who was supposed to be dead."
Adrian did not reach for her.
He did not raise his voice.
Instead, he looked around the diner.
Then said quietly:
"Would you prefer we speak somewhere private?"
Sarah shook her head.
"No."
He nodded.
"All right."
He stood.
Sarah expected him to leave.
Instead, he placed a business card on the counter.
"No address. No demands. Just a number."
She stared at it.
Adrian lowered his voice.
"My daughter saw your scar and thought it was interesting."
He paused.
"I came because I wanted to know why."
Sarah said nothing.
He continued.
"But whatever happened to you, I can see you're frightened."
His expression softened slightly.
"I'm not going to make that worse."
Then he walked out.
Sarah watched the sedan disappear.
Only when it was gone did she pick up the card.
There was no company name.
Only a phone number.
And beneath it, handwritten in dark ink:
If someone is looking for you, tell me before they find you.
That night, Sarah opened the envelope hidden inside her go bag.
For four years, she had refused to look at its contents.
Inside was a photograph.
A younger Adrian Moretti stood beside a man in a gray suit.
The photograph had been taken outside a warehouse.
Both men were smiling.
The man beside Adrian was holding a folder.
Sarah knew his face.
May you like
His name was Michael Torres.
And four years earlier, Sarah had watched him die.
