Chapter 1 - The Dinner No One Expected

I stayed frozen beside the booth, one hand resting on the cracked vinyl seat, while James Moretti disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors.

The man beside me was still staring after him.

"I've never seen him do this for anyone," he said again.

I looked at the expensive coat wrapped around Chloe's small shoulders.

"Maybe he just likes Christmas."

The man gave a short laugh.

"Mr. Moretti doesn't like Christmas."

"Then why is he making dinner?"

He glanced at Chloe, then back at me.

"That's what I'm trying to understand."

Chloe tugged on my sleeve.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Is the scary man a chef?"

The Moretti soldier almost choked.

I whispered, "Don't call him scary."

"But everybody looks scared."

"Chloe."

"What? They do."

The kitchen door opened.

James leaned out.

"Your daughter has excellent observational skills."

Heat climbed into my face.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For her calling you scary."

"Most adults use worse words."

He disappeared again.

The man beside me muttered, "And he's joking. This night keeps getting stranger."

A few minutes later, the smell of butter reached the dining room.

Then garlic.

Then rosemary.

Chloe sat up straighter.

"What is he making?"

"I don't know."

"Can I watch?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because kitchens are dangerous."

She looked toward the swinging door.

"Is Mr. Moretti dangerous?"

Every man in the room suddenly became fascinated by the floor.

I lowered my voice.

"People are complicated."

Chloe considered that.

"Like fractions?"

"Exactly like fractions."

One of the men laughed before quickly covering it with a cough.

James came out carrying two plates.

He had removed his suit jacket. His white shirt sleeves were folded to his elbows, and there was a small streak of flour near his wrist.

He set one plate in front of Chloe.

Roasted chicken.

Mashed potatoes.

Green beans with butter.

A small pile of glazed carrots.

And a bread roll that looked suspiciously like it had come from the emergency freezer.

Chloe stared at it.

"Is all that mine?"

James pulled the plate slightly closer to her.

"Unless your mother plans to steal it."

"I might," I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked toward me.

For one second, the corner of his mouth moved.

Then he placed a second plate in front of me.

"I planned ahead."

I looked down at the food.

"Mr. Moretti, I can't pay for this."

He sat across from us.

"I didn't give you a bill."

"I can't accept money from you."

"It's chicken."

"You know what I mean."

His expression changed.

The room seemed to notice.

So did I.

James leaned back.

"Grace, I don't buy people with dinner."

"I didn't say you did."

"You thought it."

I held his gaze.

"I don't know you."

"That's reasonable."

"I know what people say."

"Also reasonable."

"And I have a daughter."

His eyes went to Chloe.

"That is the part I noticed."

Chloe had already started eating.

She closed her eyes after the first bite.

"Oh."

I looked at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just really good."

James said, "Your standards may be low."

"They are not."

"I used frozen bread."

"I forgive you."

One of his men turned away because he was smiling.

James looked at me again.

"Eat."

I hated that the word sounded less like an order than concern.

I hated even more that I was hungry enough to listen.

The first bite almost broke me.

Not because it was extraordinary.

Because it was warm.

Because Chloe was warm.

Because for the first time in weeks I was sitting down while someone else handled something.

I swallowed quickly.

James watched without comment.

Chloe pointed at him with her fork.

"Who taught you?"

"My mother."

"Is she a chef?"

"No."

"Then why does she know how to cook?"

He glanced toward one of his men.

"Tony, explain to the child what an Italian mother would do if her son couldn't feed himself."

Tony said, "Probably disown him."

James shook his head.

"Too gentle."

Chloe giggled.

I stared at him.

There was something unsettling about watching a man with his reputation make my daughter laugh.

Not because the laughter felt wrong.

Because it felt normal.

Too normal.

The front door opened again.

My manager, Paul Whitaker, hurried inside in a winter coat over his pajamas.

He stopped when he saw the men.

Then he saw James.

Then me.

His face went gray.

"Mr. Moretti."

James did not turn.

"Paul."

Paul looked at Chloe.

Then at the plates.

Then at me.

"What is happening?"

I stood.

"I'm sorry. I know I wasn't supposed to bring Chloe. Mrs. Douglas canceled and I didn't have anyone else."

Paul's mouth tightened.

"We've discussed this."

"I know."

"Customers aren't allowed after closing."

Tony looked around the empty restaurant.

"Which customers?"

Paul pretended not to hear him.

He looked at me.

"Grace, step into the office."

James finally turned his head.

"Anything you need to say to her can be said here."

Paul swallowed.

"With respect, Mr. Moretti, this is an employee matter."

James looked mildly interested.

"I own the building."

"You don't own the restaurant."

"No."

Paul relaxed a fraction.

"Then—"

"I own the company that owns the building, the parking structure, the liquor license note, and the debt your restaurant has been refinancing for eighteen months."

Paul's relaxation disappeared.

James folded his hands.

"But you're correct. I don't own your restaurant."

I felt sick.

"Mr. Moretti, please."

He looked at me.

"What?"

"Don't threaten my boss."

"I didn't."

Paul said, "It sounded like a threat."

James's eyes shifted to him.

"Then you hear poorly."

I stepped between them before I could think better of it.

"Paul, I know I broke the rule. If you need to write me up, fine."

Paul stared at me.

"Write you up?"

My stomach dropped.

"Grace, I came because the alarm company called me. I checked the camera feed. You're here with your kid after closing. The kitchen is open after sanitation. People who aren't employees are behind the counter."

James raised one finger.

"I washed my hands."

Tony made a choking sound.

Paul ignored him.

"Grace, I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Covering for you."

I stared at him.

"I've never asked you to cover for me."

"You've been late three times this month."

"Four minutes. Six minutes. Eight minutes."

"You've asked for extra shifts, then had to switch one."

"My daughter had strep."

"This is exactly what I mean."

James's face lost all humor.

I said, "Paul, not tonight."

"I'm sorry."

"Please."

He looked at Chloe.

That was the worst part.

He looked ashamed.

But he still said it.

"You're fired."

Chloe's fork stopped.

The room went silent.

I felt the edges of everything go far away.

"What?"

"I'll process your final check tomorrow."

"Paul."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't say that. Don't say you're sorry and then walk away."

"I have a business to run."

"So do I."

He blinked.

"My life is the business I run."

My voice shook, and I hated it.

"I have rent. I have a child. I have eighteen dollars in my account. You know that I take every shift you give me."

"Grace—"

"I worked Thanksgiving."

"I know."

"I worked when my mother was in the hospital."

"I know."

"I came in with a fever last winter because you said you couldn't cover the floor."

"I know."

"Then look at me when you fire me."

Paul lifted his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

This time I believed him.

That made it worse.

I sat down because my knees had started shaking.

Chloe slid out of the booth and pressed against my side.

"Mommy?"

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not."

"I will be."

James stood.

I looked up sharply.

"Don't."

He paused.

"Don't what?"

"Fix it."

His jaw tightened.

"I haven't said anything."

"You were about to."

"How do you know?"

"Because men like you think everything is a problem that can be solved by buying something, threatening someone, or making a phone call."

Tony stared at the ceiling.

James's face went very still.

Then he nodded once.

"Fair."

Paul looked as if he wanted to vanish.

James picked up his jacket but did not put it on.

He said to Paul, "You should go."

Paul did.

The door closed behind him.

I put both hands over my face.

Chloe leaned against me.

"Mommy, did I make you lose your job?"

My hands dropped instantly.

"No."

"But I was here."

"No."

"I shouldn't have said we didn't have food."

"Chloe."

Her eyes filled.

I crouched in front of her.

"Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. Do you understand?"

"But—"

"Nothing."

James turned away.

I realized he was giving us privacy in a room full of his own men.

Chloe whispered, "Are we going to lose our apartment?"

My throat closed.

"I don't know."

She started crying.

I held her.

Behind me, James said quietly, "Tony, clear the room."

No one argued.

Within thirty seconds, the restaurant was empty except for the three of us.

James stayed near the counter.

I wiped Chloe's face.

"Finish eating."

"I'm not hungry."

"You were five minutes ago."

"I don't want you to be sad."

I kissed her forehead.

"Being sad doesn't mean we stop eating."

She looked at James.

"Is that true?"

He answered carefully.

"Yes."

"Even for scary people?"

"Especially for scary people."

She picked up her fork.

I stood.

"Thank you for dinner."

James nodded.

"I'll get you a cab."

"I can take the bus."

"It's Christmas Eve."

"I know how calendars work."

His eyes narrowed.

"You dislike accepting help."

"I dislike owing people."

"Those aren't the same thing."

"They are when you don't have money."

He studied me.

Then he reached into his pocket.

I stiffened.

He stopped.

Instead of pulling out cash, he took out a business card.

He placed it on the table.

"Come to 41 Hanover Street at nine on Thursday."

I didn't touch it.

"What is there?"

"A restaurant."

"I just got fired from one."

"This one needs an office manager."

"I wait tables."

"Tony says you corrected his tip calculation twice."

Tony's voice came from the hallway.

"I was off by eight cents."

James looked toward the hallway.

"I told you to clear the room."

"I was getting my coat."

"Get it faster."

Tony disappeared.

I looked at the card.

"I don't have office experience."

"You told Paul you keep his inventory sheets because he doesn't know Excel."

I stared at him.

"You heard that?"

"Two weeks ago."

"You've been here before?"

"I own the building."

"Right."

"Can you use a spreadsheet?"

"Yes."

"Can you read invoices?"

"Yes."

"Can you show up on time?"

I glared at him.

"Usually."

"Good. Thursday. Nine."

"Is this pity?"

"No."

"Charity?"

"No."

"Then why me?"

He looked toward Chloe.

I almost walked away.

Then he said, "Because you stood between me and your boss when you thought I might threaten him."

I blinked.

"That was stupid."

"It was."

"Then why would you hire me for it?"

"Because everyone who works for me tells me what they think I want to hear."

His expression hardened.

"I need someone in one of my legitimate businesses who doesn't."

I looked at the card again.

"Legitimate?"

His mouth twitched.

"I appreciate the skepticism."

Chloe said, "Mommy, you should take the job."

I sighed.

"You don't even know what it pays."

She looked at James.

"What does it pay?"

He named a number.

I thought I had misheard him.

"What?"

"That's the salary."

"For office management?"

"For office management."

"That's almost twice what I make here."

"Made."

I closed my eyes.

"Too soon."

"Accurate, though."

I picked up the card.

"One interview."

"One interview."

"No promises."

"None."

"No favors."

"Agreed."

"No men following me."

His face changed.

"Why would men follow you?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

He looked toward the dark windows.

Then he said, "Because you were seen with me tonight."

The warmth left the room.

I stared at him.

"So this is dangerous."

"Potentially."

"You were going to let me leave without saying that?"

"No."

Chloe looked between us.

"What does dangerous mean?"

I said, "It means Mr. Moretti is going to explain himself."

James exhaled slowly.

"Someone has been watching this restaurant for three weeks."

"What?"

"I thought they were watching me."

"And now?"

"Now I think they were watching you."

My skin went cold.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"I have no connection to you."

"You didn't before tonight."

"Then whoever is watching me started before tonight."

"Yes."

I gripped the edge of the table.

"Why didn't you tell me the moment you realized?"

"Because I realized six seconds ago."

Chloe whispered, "Mommy?"

I forced my voice calm.

"It's okay."

James looked at me.

"No."

I frowned.

He continued.

"Don't tell her it's okay when you don't know that."

I wanted to slap him.

Instead, I said, "Then what should I tell her?"

He crouched so he was at Chloe's height.

"Tell her there are grown-ups paying attention."

Chloe looked at him.

"Are you one of the grown-ups?"

"Unfortunately."

"Are you paying attention?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She returned to her mashed potatoes.

I stared at James.

He stood.

"Do you have an ex-husband?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Anyone who might want to frighten you?"

"No."

"Debt besides rent?"

"Credit card."

"How much?"

"None of your business."

"Fair."

"Why would anyone watch me?"

James looked at the business card in my hand.

Then his eyes shifted to my left ring finger.

There was no ring there.

But there was still a faint pale line.

He asked, "Chloe's father?"

My chest tightened.

"Dead."

His expression changed.

"When?"

"Three years ago."

"Name?"

I hesitated.

"Daniel Bennett."

James went completely still.

The silence was so sudden that even Chloe looked up.

I said, "What?"

James didn't answer.

"Do you know that name?"

He looked at me as if the room had moved under his feet.

"Grace."

"What?"

"What did your husband do for a living?"

"He was an electrician."

"Where?"

"Mostly commercial sites. Warehouses. Construction."

James's face had gone pale.

"Did he ever work at Pier Fourteen?"

I stopped breathing.

"Yes."

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James closed his eyes for one second.

Then he said, very softly, "We need to get you and Chloe somewhere safe."