Chapter 2 - Shadows and Coffee Cups
I scrambled to my feet, hastily tossing the pregnancy test deep into the bottom of the trash bin and burying it beneath empty shampoo bottles and old tissues. Splashing cold water over my face, I forced my breathing to steady before unlocking the bathroom door. Liam was leaning against the peeling wallpaper of the hallway, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand, his brow furrowed with brotherly worry.
“You look pale, Em,” Liam said, stepping aside as I walked past him toward the tiny kitchen. “Are you working too many double shifts again? I told you, you don't need to kill yourself over tuition. We can figure out another loan.”
“I’m fine, Liam. Just a stomach bug,” I lied, my voice tight as I poured myself a glass of tap water to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.
Liam didn't look convinced. He sat down at our wobbly wooden kitchen table, flipping through a stack of dog-eared mechanics textbooks. Liam worked as an apprentice at a local auto body shop, using every spare hour to study for his certification exams. He was the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back, a gentle giant with calloused hands and a fierce loyalty that had shielded me through thick and thin. Looking at him now, a wave of guilt washed over me. By keeping the truth about my night with Alessandro a secret, I was putting Liam directly in the crosshairs of a war he knew nothing about. If the Vitali family ever traced me here, Liam would be the first person they targeted to get to me.
“Well, if you’re feeling sick, you should call out of the diner today,” Liam insisted, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’ve been distracted lately. Ever since that charity gala at the Obsidian Hotel six weeks ago, you haven't been quite right. Did something happen that night?”
My heart skipped a beat, but I forced a tight, unconvincing laugh. “Nothing happened, Liam. Just tired from standing on my feet for eight hours. Besides, we need the tips. Rent is due next week.”
He sighed, knowing I was stubborn once I made up my mind. “Alright, but if you faint while carrying a tray of pancakes today, I’m dragging you to the clinic myself.”
Ten minutes later, I grabbed my worn denim jacket and hurried out the door, needing to escape Liam’s perceptive gaze before he read the absolute terror written across my face. The morning air in Chicago was biting, carrying the sharp chill of late autumn off Lake Michigan. As I walked the four blocks toward the diner, every black sedan that crawled past the curb made my pulse spike. I felt like a fugitive, jumping at shadows, convinced that Alessandro’s men were already watching me.
When I arrived at Betty’s Diner, the familiar smell of fried bacon and stale grease welcomed me. My boss, Betty, tossed me a stained apron the moment I walked through the swinging kitchen doors.
“You’re late, Emma,” Betty barked good-naturedly, wiping down the counter with a damp rag. “Hurry up, booth four is waiting for coffee.”
For the next six hours, I threw myself into the grueling rhythm of pouring coffee, balancing heavy plates, and smiling politely at rude customers. It was a numbing distraction, a way to quiet the screaming panic inside my head. But physical exhaustion couldn't stop my mind from racing back to the terrifying reality: I was pregnant. I was going to have a baby, and its father was a monster wrapped in an expensive designer suit.
Around noon, the bell above the diner door chimed, and a rush of cold wind swept inside. I was wiping down a sticky table near the window when a group of businessmen in tailored suits walked in, taking up a large booth in the corner. I grabbed a pitcher of water and a notepad, walking over to take their orders without looking up.
“Welcome to Betty’s, what can I get started for—?” I began, my voice trailing off as I looked up.
My blood turned to ice in my veins.
Sitting at the head of the table, casually flipping through a menu while speaking quietly to an associate, was one of Alessandro Vitali’s top enforcers—a towering man with cold, dead eyes and a jagged scar across his jaw that I had spotted standing outside Room 1520 the morning I left the hotel.
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He hadn't noticed me yet, his gaze fixed on the menu. Panic seized my throat. If he recognized me—if he connected the temporary catering girl from the Obsidian Hotel to the woman his boss had spent the night with—it would all be over in seconds.
Without a word, I dropped my notepad onto the table, spun around on my heel, and practically sprinted back toward the safety of the kitchen doors, leaving the businessmen staring after me in utter confusion.
