Chapter 7 - THE BOOTH
The rain was a deafening roar as Lena crept through the tall, wet grass behind the diner.
She stayed low, her soaked uniform clinging to her skin. She gripped the .38 revolver so tightly her knuckles ached.
Fifty yards ahead, Matteo was walking directly toward the front entrance of the diner, holding the steel lockbox in his left hand, his hands raised in surrender.
Two armed guards immediately stepped forward, raising assault rifles to Matteo’s chest. They patted him down, found the Glock in his waistband, and tossed it into the mud.
They shoved him through the shattered glass doors.
Lena moved faster.
She knew the Route 17 Diner better than anyone. She knew the blind spots. She knew that the ventilation fan above the fryers in the kitchen had a rusted grill that could be kicked in from the outside.
She slipped into the muddy alley behind the kitchen. A single guard was standing near the dumpsters, smoking a cigarette to stay warm.
Lena crept up behind him. She didn't hesitate.
She raised the heavy steel butt of the revolver and brought it down hard on the base of the guard’s skull. He collapsed into the mud without a sound.
Lena climbed onto the dumpster, gripped the rusted grill of the ventilation shaft, and pulled. It popped open with a quiet squeak.
She slid feet-first into the narrow metal chute, dropping silently onto the greasy steel prep counter inside the dark kitchen.
She crouched low, peering through the small rectangular window of the swinging kitchen doors that led into the main dining room.
The diner was destroyed. Tables were overturned. The air still smelled faintly of tear gas and burnt coffee.
In the center of the room, sitting at booth seven—the exact booth the thugs had been sitting in hours ago—was Vincent Romano.
He was wearing an immaculate, tailored charcoal suit. He looked exactly like Matteo, but older, sharper, with eyes like cracked ice.
Standing next to the booth was the young thug from earlier. And standing behind Vincent were four massive men holding submachine guns.
Matteo stood ten feet away, holding the lockbox.
But Lena’s eyes weren't on Vincent or Matteo.
Sitting in the booth across from Vincent was a little girl.
She had dark curly hair. She was wearing a pink pajama top and holding a faded, one-eyed stuffed rabbit tightly to her chest. Her wide brown eyes were filled with absolute terror.
Sofia.
Lena pressed her hand against her mouth to trap a sob.
Her daughter was ten feet away.
“You’re late, little brother,” Vincent said, taking a sip from a pristine white coffee mug. He smiled, gesturing to the shattered diner. “I told them to keep the coffee hot for you. I hear you like this place.”
“Let her go, Vincent,” Matteo said, his voice echoing in the empty room.
Vincent chuckled. He reached out and affectionately patted Sofia’s head. The little girl flinched violently.
“She’s a beautiful child, Matteo. She has Lena’s eyes. It’s a shame her mother didn't live long enough to see her grow up.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened. “Lena is dead. She jumped from the train to save herself. She drowned in the river.”
Lena’s breath caught in the kitchen. Matteo was protecting her. Making Vincent believe she was no longer a threat.
“Tragic,” Vincent sighed, feigning sorrow. He held out his hand. “The lockbox. Now.”
“The girl first,” Matteo demanded. “Send her out the front door. Once she’s in the parking lot, I’ll slide the box to you.”
Vincent laughed, a cold, sharp sound.
“Do you think I’m stupid, Matteo? You’re standing in my trap. You have no leverage. Give me the box, or my men will shoot her in the kneecaps before they shoot you.”
Matteo didn't move. He held the lockbox tighter.
“The ledger is inside, Vincent,” Matteo lied, his voice perfectly steady. “The only key is in my pocket. If you shoot me, you’ll never find the offshore accounts. The feds will seize everything by morning.”
Vincent’s smile faltered slightly. The greed in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Bring it here,” Vincent ordered.
Matteo slowly walked forward. He stopped right at the edge of booth seven.
He looked down at Sofia.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Matteo whispered softly. “Close your eyes.”
Sofia sniffled and buried her face into the stuffed rabbit.
Matteo placed the heavy steel lockbox onto the diner table.
Vincent stared at it like it was the Holy Grail. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a suppressed pistol, aiming it directly at Matteo’s chest.
“The key,” Vincent demanded.
Matteo reached into his wet pocket.
From the kitchen window, Lena saw Matteo’s muscles tense. He wasn't reaching for a key. He was preparing to lunge across the table and snap Vincent’s neck.
He was going to die to kill him.
No, Lena thought.
She pushed the kitchen doors open.
“He doesn't have the key, Vincent!” Lena yelled, stepping out into the dining room, aiming the .38 revolver directly at Vincent’s head. “I do.”
Every gun in the room instantly snapped toward her.
Matteo turned, his eyes widening in horror. “Lena, what are you doing?!”
Vincent stared at her, genuinely surprised. Then, a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.
“Well, well,” Vincent purred. “A ghost with a gun. How romantic.”
Lena walked slowly forward, keeping the gun trained on Vincent. Her heart was beating so fast it blurred her vision, but her hands were rock steady.
“Tell your men to drop their weapons,” Lena said, her voice echoing with a mother’s absolute authority. “Or I put a bullet between your eyes.”
Vincent laughed. “You pull that trigger, waitress, and my men will cut you, your husband, and this little brat to ribbons.”
“Maybe,” Lena said.
She reached her left hand to her throat and pulled the gold locket free from her shirt. She yanked it hard, snapping the chain.
Attached to the chain, dangling next to the locket, was the tiny bronze key.
“But if I die,” Lena said, holding the key over the shattered glass on the floor, “I drop this key into the grating of the floor drain. And you never get the ledger.”
Vincent’s eyes darted to the key, then to the floor drain inches beneath Lena’s feet.
He raised his hand.
“Hold your fire,” Vincent ordered his men.
He looked at Lena. “You’re smarter than you look, Lena. Fine. What do you want?”
“Sofia,” Lena said. “Let her walk to me.”
Vincent looked at the little girl trembling in the booth.
“Go ahead, sweetie,” Vincent mocked softly. “Go to your mommy.”
Sofia slowly slid out of the booth. She looked terrified, clutching the rabbit. She took one step toward Lena, then another.
Then she ran.
Lena dropped to her knees and caught the little girl, wrapping her arms around her daughter for the first time in six years. Sofia buried her face in Lena’s neck, crying softly.
Lena closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of her child. The missing piece of her soul slammed back into place.
“Beautiful,” Vincent sneered. “Now. Throw me the key.”
Lena stood up, pushing Sofia behind her legs.
She looked at Matteo. Matteo gave her a desperate, imperceptible shake of his head. He knew the box was empty. He knew the second Vincent opened it, they were all dead.
Lena looked back at Vincent.
“I don't have the key to the lockbox, Vincent,” Lena said clearly.
Vincent frowned, pointing the gun at her. “What is in your hand?”
“This is the key to my jewelry box,” Lena said, opening her palm. “The lockbox on the table is already unlocked.”
Matteo gasped.
Vincent looked at the lockbox.
He reached out his left hand, leaving the gun trained on Lena, and flipped the heavy steel latch.
It clicked open.
Vincent lifted the lid.
He stared inside the box for a long, agonizing moment.
Then, his face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated confusion.
He slowly reached into the box.
He didn't pull out the passports. He didn't pull out the cash.
He pulled out a heavy, black leather-bound book.
A ledger.
Matteo’s mouth fell open in shock.
“What is this?” Vincent whispered, flipping the book open.
Lena didn't answer.
Instead, she raised her gun and pointed it, not at Vincent, but at the lockbox.
“Look closer, Vincent,” Lena said.
Vincent looked down at the open ledger.
The pages were completely hollowed out.
And sitting inside the hollowed-out square of pages was a single, rusted, deformed bullet.
Vincent’s eyes widened in horror.
“No,” Vincent choked out.
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“Matteo,” Lena said, her voice dead calm. “Get down.”
Before Vincent could raise his weapon, Lena pulled the trigger.
