Chapter 3 - THE DRAWING
The diner around me faded into a dull roar.
Run off the road.
“No,” I shook my head, pushing the watch back toward him. “No, that’s impossible. Mark was a high school math teacher. He graded papers at the kitchen table. He complained about the price of printer ink. He didn't know anyone in your world.”
“Emma—”
“He didn't!” I hissed, tears blurring my vision. “You have the wrong man. You’re lying.”
“I don't lie,” Dominic said evenly. “Mark owed ninety thousand dollars to the Morettis. Gambling debts from before he met you. He kept it hidden to protect you and Lily. But two years ago, they called in the debt.”
My chest heaved. I tried to reconcile the gentle man who used to read bedtime stories to my daughter with the terrifying reality Dominic was spinning. It didn't fit. None of it fit.
Before I could demand more answers, the diner bell chimed sharply.
A man in a heavy leather jacket walked in. He wasn't wearing a suit. He had a jagged scar across his jaw and a hand buried deep inside his right pocket.
Dominic didn't turn around, but his posture instantly shifted. His shoulders tightened.
“Don't look at him,” Dominic murmured to me, picking up his water glass.
I couldn't help it. My eyes darted to the stranger.
The man locked eyes with me, a sickening grin spreading across his face. He began pulling his hand out of his jacket.
The eruption of violence was so fast it didn't even seem real.
Before the man could clear his weapon, two of Dominic’s guards practically materialized behind him. One grabbed the man’s arm, snapping it backward with a sickening crunch. The other slammed a hand over the man’s mouth, wrestling him silently to the linoleum floor.
Old Mr. Chen dropped his spoon. Rosie ducked behind the counter.
Dominic casually wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood up, and walked over to the pinned man.
I followed behind him, my knees shaking.
“Check his pockets,” Dominic ordered quietly.
A guard thoroughly patted the groaning man down, retrieving a loaded pistol and a folded piece of paper. He handed the paper to Dominic.
Dominic unfolded it. His jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a squeak.
Dominic slowly turned the paper around so I could see it.
The air was sucked directly out of my lungs.
It wasn't a photograph. It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on construction paper. A wobbly blue butterfly hovering over a green flower. In the corner, written in clumsy, backwards letters, was the name: LILY.
It was the drawing that had been pinned to Lily’s bedroom bulletin board when I kissed her goodnight three hours ago.
“Where is your daughter right now?” Dominic demanded, his voice suddenly hard as steel.
“At home,” I gasped, panic seizing my throat. “With Mrs. Higgins, our elderly neighbor.”
May you like
Dominic threw a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter for Rosie.
“We have to go,” he commanded, grabbing my arm gently but firmly. “Right now.”
