Chapter 3 - Blood on the Ledger
I didn't take his hand. I scrambled backward, my back hitting the cold wood of the mahogany sideboard, scattering leftover crystal glassware. The shards clinked softly—a pathetic little sound against the heavy tension thick enough to choke on.
"I'm not conspiring with anyone," I spat out, fear finally giving way to a sharp, defensive spike of adrenaline. "I came to this country to disappear. I left Frankfurt with two black eyes, a burned-out apartment, and a passport that cost me my last savings. I wanted to pour wine. I wanted to be invisible. If Greg knew anything about me, it’s because someone dug into a file I thought I buried six feet deep."
Dante stared at me, his expression unreadable. He slowly pulled off his left glove, letting it drop onto the table next to the unsigned German contract. He walked over to the service cart, picked up Greg's abandoned pocket watch, and popped the brass casing open. Inside, tucked behind the delicate gears, was a micro-SD card no bigger than a fingernail.
My blood ran cold.
"Your former employers in Germany didn't just want you dead, Blair," Dante said, his voice dangerously quiet as he held up the tiny chip. "They wanted your silence permanently secured. And when you slipped out of their grasp, they planted you here. They knew my syndicate was expanding into European logistics. They knew I’d use this venue. They used your manager as a relay station to drop you right into my lap."
"That's insane," I breathed, though my voice lacked conviction. The timeline fit too well. The sudden job opening at this specific upscale restaurant. The manager who hired me without checking references. The VIP section assignment tonight. It was all an engineered collision.
"Nothing is insane in my world, Blair. It’s all math," Dante said, walking back toward me. He crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. The proximity was terrifying; I could see the faint silver scar cutting through his left eyebrow. "The Germans thought they were handing me a liability. A sleeper cell disguised as a waitress."
"And instead?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Instead," Dante said, a dangerous, razor-thin smile touching the corner of his mouth, "you saved my life by understanding a dialect you shouldn't know, and exposed an internal leak. Which puts you in a fascinating position."
"Meaning what?"
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"Meaning you don't walk out of here as a waitress," he stood up, his shadow swallowing me whole. "You walk out of here as my asset. Because if the German syndicate realizes you survived their ambush and outsmarted their translator, they won't just send snipers to the docks on Thursday. They’ll send them here."
Before I could process the gravity of his words, Marcus slammed the back exit doors open. "Boss. Perimeter cameras just picked up three unmarked sedans pulling into the alley. They aren't waiting for Thursday anymore."
