Chapter 2 - THE SHATTERED GLASS
Evelyn’s black non-slip shoes squeaked against the polished mahogany floor as she approached the table. The air around Lorenzo Moretti felt like a physical weight, a suffocating aura of danger that made her throat dry. She reached for his empty scotch glass, her hand trembling just enough to clink against the crystal. With a swift, practiced motion honed from months of avoiding grabby patrons, she slid the folded cocktail napkin under the edge of his fresh coaster. She didn't dare make eye contact. Celeste was busy applying a coat of blood-red lipstick, her gaze fixed on her compact mirror, but Evelyn knew the clock was ticking. 8:53 p.m.
Lorenzo’s dark, predatory eyes flicked down. He was a man who noticed everything—the shift in the wind, a stutter in a heartbeat, and certainly a rogue waitress sliding contraband onto his table. He picked up his drink, his large, scarred hand smoothly palming the napkin. For a split second, the world seemed to freeze. Evelyn turned her back, walking toward the kitchen with stiff, measured steps. She expected a shout. She expected a bullet. Instead, she heard the screech of a chair pushing back.
"Excuse me, my love," Lorenzo’s voice was a low, velvet purr that sent shivers down Evelyn's spine. "I need to make a call."
"Now, Renzo?" Celeste asked, her voice shrill, laced with sudden, barely concealed panic. "Dinner is just arriving."
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"Business never sleeps," he replied coolly.
Evelyn reached the swinging doors of the kitchen just as 8:54 p.m. ticked over. She glanced back. Lorenzo wasn't heading for the north exit where his security detail waited. He was walking directly toward the kitchen, his eyes locked onto her retreating form. The obsidian-black depths of his gaze pinned her in place. Before she could gasp, all the lights in the main dining room cut out. A heavy, terrifying silence fell, followed instantly by the deafening roar of automatic gunfire shattering the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
