CHAPTER 2 — THE MAN WHO CAME BACK
CHAPTER 2 — THE MAN WHO CAME BACK
Gina spent the next hour pacing behind the counter.
"You have to leave New York."
Bee looked up from the coffee machine.
"With what money?"
"The thousand dollars."
Bee almost laughed.
"That thousand is already gone."
She pulled a folded invoice from her apron.
Brookside Assisted Living.
Past Due: $982.14
Her mother's room would be reassigned if payment wasn't received by Friday.
Bee had taken the money Maxim left, stared at it for nearly an hour, then marched straight to the bank before she could convince herself it was some kind of trap.
Maybe it was.
But her mother needed a bed more than Bee needed principles.
She wasn't sorry.
She was terrified.
The fourth night arrived without incident.
No black SUVs.
No bodyguards.
No bullets.
Life settled into the familiar misery of twelve-hour shifts, burned hash browns, aching knees, and customers who believed snapping their fingers counted as conversation.
Bee slowly convinced herself she had imagined the danger.
Maybe Maxim Rosetti had simply enjoyed the confrontation.
Maybe rich men collected unusual memories the way ordinary people collected refrigerator magnets.
Maybe she would never see him again.
That illusion lasted until Thursday evening.
The diner was packed.
Construction workers.
Taxi drivers.
Hospital nurses finishing overnight shifts.
Every booth was full.
The bell over the entrance rang.
Conversation stopped.
Not because anyone recognized the newcomers.
Because they looked expensive.
Five men entered.
Dark suits.
Perfect posture.
Cold eyes.
Bee's stomach dropped before she even saw him.
Maxim walked in last.
This time he wasn't smiling.
Neither were his bodyguards.
Gina nearly fainted.
"Oh God..."
Bee wiped her hands on her apron.
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
"I'm not hiding."
"Adelaide—"
"He came to see me."
She inhaled once.
Then walked across the diner.
"What can I get you?"
Maxim didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he studied her.
The coffee stain was gone from his suit.
Tonight he wore black.
Tailored.
Immaculate.
His face looked even harder than before.
"You came back."
"You left a note."
"I did."
"You should stop doing that."
One corner of his mouth lifted.
"You still aren't afraid."
"I didn't say that."
"No?"
"I'm terrified."
His eyebrow rose.
Bee shrugged.
"I just don't think fear gives anyone permission to be rude."
One of the bodyguards chuckled.
Another immediately stopped after Maxim glanced sideways.
The boss looked back at Bee.
"You surprise me."
"I hear that a lot."
He slid a leather folder across the table.
"I have a job."
Bee blinked.
"No."
"You haven't heard it."
"I don't need to."
"It pays fifty thousand dollars."
Silence.
Someone dropped a fork behind them.
Bee stared.
"...No."
Maxim actually looked confused.
"You didn't hear the amount."
"I heard enough."
"You earn what?"
He glanced toward the register.
"Thirty-eight thousand a year?"
"Less."
"I just offered more than your annual salary."
"I know math."
"So why refuse?"
Bee folded her arms.
"Because nobody pays fifty thousand dollars for honest work after midnight."
A smile touched his face.
"There you are."
"There who is?"
"The woman who threatened me."
He leaned back.
"I need someone."
"Hire someone else."
"I already tried."
"Try harder."
"My enemies don't expect someone like you."
Bee frowned.
"What exactly does that mean?"
"You."
His gaze moved—not cruelly this time, but clinically.
"People ignore you."
That stung more than she expected.
"You disappear in crowds."
Another hit.
"No one imagines you're dangerous."
Third strike.
"You hear conversations no one thinks you're listening to."
Bee stared.
He wasn't insulting her.
He was describing survival.
Years of being invisible.
Years of being underestimated.
Years of existing in the corner of every room.
"You want a spy."
"I want eyes."
"I'm a waitress."
"You notice everything."
"I notice who tips."
"You noticed my bodyguard bumped you intentionally."
Bee hesitated.
"You noticed my watch wasn't expensive enough for my suit."
She frowned.
"I never said that."
"You looked at it."
"I..."
"You noticed."
His voice remained calm.
"My father taught me that the most valuable people in a room are rarely the loudest."
Bee shook her head.
"No."
Maxim sighed.
"I expected that."
He stood.
"So I'll ask differently."
He slid a photograph onto the table.
Bee looked down.
Everything inside her froze.
It was her mother.
Walking.
Outside Brookside.
Taken yesterday.
Her mother smiled at someone outside the frame.
Bee's heart hammered.
"Where did you get this?"
"My people."
"You followed my mother?"
"We protected her."
"I didn't ask you to!"
"You didn't have to."
Bee's voice dropped.
"If you're threatening her..."
"I am protecting the only family you have."
"I don't need your protection."
"You do."
"No."
"Someone entered the facility Tuesday."
Bee stopped breathing.
"What?"
"They asked for your mother's room."
The diner noise faded.
Maxim continued quietly.
"They were not visitors."
"Who were they?"
"They were looking for leverage."
Bee felt the blood drain from her face.
"What leverage?"
"You."
Her hands began shaking.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
"So explain."
Maxim looked around the crowded diner.
"Not here."
"I'm not leaving with you."
"I wasn't asking."
She glared.
"There she is again."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He bent closer.
"My enemies believe you matter to me."
Bee laughed once.
A nervous, disbelieving laugh.
"That's insane."
"They watched us here."
His expression never changed.
"They saw you stand up to me."
"So?"
"They saw me let you live."
Bee's stomach tightened.
"They saw me return."
Silence.
"They saw me offer you work."
The realization arrived slowly.
Heavy.
Terrible.
"They think..."
"Yes."
"...that we're connected."
"Yes."
"But we're not."
"They don't know that."
A glass shattered somewhere near the kitchen.
Nobody moved.
Maxim reached into his jacket.
Bee instinctively tensed.
Instead of a gun...
He placed a small silver object on the table.
A tracking device.
The size of a coin.
"My security team removed this."
Bee frowned.
"From where?"
He looked directly at her.
"Under your apartment."
Her knees nearly gave out.
"What?"
"It was attached beneath your fire escape."
"No..."
"My men found another."
He placed down a second tracker.
"This one was beneath your car."
"I don't own a car."
"I know."
He paused.
"It was beneath Gina's."
Bee slowly turned toward the owner.
Gina had gone completely white.
Maxim spoke with chilling calm.
"Someone has been watching everyone close to you."
Bee whispered,
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I know many things."
His eyes hardened.
"But the person doing this..."
"...isn't one of mine."
For the first time since he'd entered her life...
Bee saw something she never expected.
Concern.
Not fear for himself.
Calculation.
Something had happened.
Something serious enough that Maxim Rosetti—one of the most dangerous men in Manhattan—had walked into a cheap diner in broad daylight and admitted he didn't know who was hunting them.
Then the diner's front window exploded inward.
Glass erupted across the room.
People screamed.
Bee hit the floor.
Gunshots thundered outside.
One.
Two.
Three.
Maxim shoved the table over with one violent movement.
"DOWN!"
A black SUV accelerated past the diner.
Automatic gunfire ripped through the windows.
Customers crawled beneath booths.
Coffee mugs shattered.
Gina cried out.
One of Maxim's bodyguards collapsed, blood spreading across his shoulder.
Bee looked toward the entrance—
—and saw a man in a gray hoodie standing across the street.
He wasn't aiming at Maxim.
He wasn't aiming at the bodyguards.
His rifle was pointed directly...
...at her.
May you like
The masked gunman squeezed the trigger.
And Maxim Rosetti threw himself in front of Adelaide Callahan just as the bullet crossed the diner.
