Chapter 1: The Cup That Missed My Head
A coffee cup missed my head by less than three inches before exploding against the diner wall.
Hot coffee splattered across the faded wallpaper.
White ceramic fragments bounced over the black-and-white tile.
Twelve customers stopped breathing.
The man who had thrown it was Vincent Moretti.
Sixty-one years old.
Billionaire.
Mafia boss.
In Chicago, people apologized to Vincent before he decided what they had done wrong.
I stared at him across the counter.
"I asked for fresh coffee," Vincent said.
"You got fresh coffee."
"It tasted burned."
"Then you could've asked for another cup without throwing the first one at my head."
Dana stood beside the register.
"Emily," she whispered.
"Please."
I raised one hand.
Vincent's three men shifted around the diner.
One stood near the entrance.
Another occupied the end of the counter.
The third had been watching me since Vincent walked in.
Vincent leaned forward.
"Do you know who I am?"
"I know exactly who you are."
"Then you know what happens to people who waste my time."
My heart hammered.
But fear had changed for me.
At thirty-four, I'd spent two years watching my mother slowly lose the ability to breathe.
I'd argued with insurance companies.
Sold my father's pickup.
Canceled my own health insurance.
Worked double shifts.
Slept beside an oxygen machine.
Nine dollars and fifty cents an hour before tips.
Two hundred and eleven dollars in savings.
A kitchen drawer full of unopened bills.
Powerful men weren't nearly as frightening after that.
I put both palms on the counter.
"Shout at me again, and I'll end you."
One of Vincent's men gave a short laugh.
Another stepped forward.
"Boss?"
Vincent raised one finger.
The man stopped.
"Nobody touches anything."
Vincent stared at me.
I stared back.
"You've gone so long without hearing no," I said, "that you think the world belongs to you."
His jaw tightened.
"It doesn't.
You broke a cup.
That's two dollars.
Order another coffee like an adult or pay your check and leave."
Someone gasped behind me.
Vincent's hand disappeared inside his coat.
Dana flinched.
My entire body went rigid.
He pulled out a leather wallet.
Then he placed a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.
"For the cup."
He turned.
The bell above the door rang as he left.
His men followed.
Three black SUVs disappeared into the Chicago rain.
The diner exhaled.
Dana grabbed my arm.
"Have you completely lost your mind?"
"Possibly."
"Emily, that's Vincent Moretti."
"I noticed."
"He could buy this diner just to fire you."
"Then maybe Reuben can finally fix the freezer."
"I'm serious!"
"So am I."
Reuben emerged from behind the grill.
"Emily."
"What?"
"You're fired."
I stared at him.
Dana stared at him.
"Reuben!"
He pointed toward the door.
"I've got a wife and two kids."
"He left."
"He'll come back."
"He paid."
"He's Vincent Moretti.
Men like that don't pay a hundred dollars for a broken coffee cup and forget what happened."
I untied my apron.
"Fine."
Dana's face fell.
"Emily—"
"It's okay."
It wasn't.
Mom's medication was due Friday.
The electricity bill was already late.
I folded my apron on the counter.
Then the bell rang.
Everyone froze again.
A young man stepped inside.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Black suit beneath a rain-covered overcoat.
He couldn't have been older than thirty-seven.
And he looked so much like Vincent that nobody needed an introduction.
His eyes found me immediately.
"Emily Carter?"
I slowly turned.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're here about the coffee."
His mouth almost smiled.
"I'm Adrian Moretti."
Vincent's son.
Dana whispered something that sounded like a prayer.
Adrian approached the counter.
I folded my arms.
"If your father sent you to scare me, you're wasting your evening."
"My father didn't send me."
"Then why are you here?"
Adrian glanced at the coffee stains covering the wall.
Then at the broken ceramic.
Then back at me.
"Because my father hasn't paid for something he broke in twenty-three years."
Silence.
"And?"
"And I wanted to meet the woman who made him start."
He looked at Reuben.
"You fired her?"
Reuben swallowed.
"I—"
"Answer me."
"Yes."
Adrian looked back at me.
"Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"Yes."
He reached into his coat.
This time nobody panicked.
He produced a business card and placed it on the counter.
"I need someone who isn't afraid to tell powerful men they're wrong."
I didn't touch the card.
"What exactly are you offering?"
"A job."
"Doing what?"
Adrian smiled slightly.
"Telling my father no."
---
What will Emily do — and what does Vincent Moretti really want with a diner waitress who refused to back down?
Comment **"NEXT"** if you want Part 2.
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