Chapter 2 - Why He Came Every Morning
Avery stared at Cameron as if the kitchen had tilted beneath her feet.
Rosa quietly backed toward the swinging doors.
“I’ll give you two a minute.”
“No,” Avery said immediately. “You can stay.”
Rosa stopped.
Cameron’s jaw tightened.
That tiny movement frightened Avery more than shouting would have.
For almost six months, she had served this man coffee.
She knew he folded the newspaper before drinking. She knew he hated cinnamon. She knew he always left exactly forty dollars beneath the saucer no matter whether his bill was six dollars or twelve.
She knew absolutely nothing else.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I never told you my last name.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
His voice remained calm.
“It isn’t.”
Avery pulled her injured arm against herself.
“Why are you here every morning?”
Cameron glanced at Rosa.
Rosa looked away.
Avery caught it.
“You know.”
Rosa sighed.
“Avery—”
“You knew who he was?”
“I knew his name.”
“For six months?”
Rosa’s silence answered.
Avery laughed once, but there was nothing amused about it.
“Wonderful.”
She pushed through the doors.
“Avery.”
Cameron followed.
The diner had gone suspiciously quiet.
Customers pretended to eat while watching them.
Avery grabbed her coat from beneath the counter.
Cameron stopped several feet away.
He seemed to understand that getting closer would make her retreat.
“Your burn needs a doctor.”
“I can manage.”
“My car is outside.”
“Of course it is.”
“Avery.”
“What?”
Something flickered across his face.
Guilt.
“Please.”
That word stopped her.
Men like Cameron Moretti probably did not use it often.
Twenty minutes later, she sat in the back of a black SUV beside him while Brooklyn blurred beyond rain-streaked windows.
Neither spoke.
The driver addressed Cameron as Mr. Moretti.
A second vehicle followed them.
Avery noticed it at the third intersection.
“Security?”
“Yes.”
“Have they been outside the diner every morning?”
“Yes.”
She turned toward him.
“So while I thought you were some quiet guy who liked bad diner coffee, armed men were sitting outside?”
“The coffee isn’t bad.”
“Cameron.”
His eyes met hers.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked out the window.
“Your father.”
Avery went still.
“My father has been dead fourteen years.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Cameron was silent long enough that her pulse began climbing.
“Because Anthony Russo saved my life.”
The city noise seemed to disappear.
Avery stared at him.
“My father drove a truck.”
“For Moretti Maritime.”
“He drove produce.”
“Sometimes.”
Avery shook her head.
“No.”
“When I was twenty-two, someone tried to kill my father and me at Pier Thirty-Seven. Your father was making a delivery. He saw the shooter before I did.”
Cameron’s voice changed.
The polished control remained, but something old lived beneath it.
“He pushed me behind an engine block. The bullet meant for me hit him.”
Avery’s lips parted.
“He died in a highway accident.”
“That is what your mother was told to say.”
Her face drained.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Avery—”
“Stop the car.”
The driver glanced into the mirror.
“Stop the car!”
Cameron raised one hand.
The SUV pulled against the curb.
Avery opened the door and stepped into the rain.
Cameron followed without an umbrella.
“My mother lied to me?”
“She protected you.”
“From what?”
“From my family.”
That answer struck harder than she expected.
Avery faced him on the wet sidewalk.
“You mean the mafia.”
Cameron said nothing.
She laughed bitterly.
“Right. That silence is getting very informative.”
“My father ran businesses that existed on both sides of the law. Some still do.”
“And you?”
“I’ve spent fifteen years pulling them toward one side.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Rain ran through his dark hair.
“I have done things you would not approve of.”
The honesty chilled her.
“Then why me?”
“Because your father died protecting me.”
“So this is guilt?”
“At first.”
Avery froze.
“At first?”
Cameron looked at her.
And suddenly the rain seemed louder.
“I began checking on your mother years ago. Quietly. When her medical bills increased, I made sure her insurance appeals stopped disappearing into bureaucracy.”
Avery’s stomach dropped.
The insurance company had reversed three denials last year.
She had called it a miracle.
“You did that?”
“Yes.”
“Without asking us?”
“Yes.”
Anger surged through her.
“You don’t get to secretly manage my life because my father saved yours.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m learning.”
She stared at him.
“Then why the diner?”
His answer came quietly.
“I wanted to see whether you were okay.”
“Every day?”
“Yes.”
“For six months?”
“Yes.”
“That is insane.”
“Probably.”
“And creepy.”
“Almost certainly.”
Despite herself, Avery nearly laughed.
She hated that he noticed.
His mouth softened for half a second.
Then his phone rang.
Cameron checked the screen.
Whatever he saw erased the moment.
He answered.
“Speak.”
A male voice came faintly through the phone.
Cameron’s expression became stone.
“When?”
Pause.
“Keep him there.”
Another pause.
“No. Nobody touches him.”
Avery folded her arms.
“Bradley?”
Cameron ended the call.
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Cameron.”
“My people located him.”
“Your people?”
“He is at Moretti Tower.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Bradley Hayes didn’t walk into Rosa’s Diner by accident.”
Avery forgot the rain.
“What?”
Cameron stepped closer.
“His tire was cut.”
She stared at him.
“Someone wanted him there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Cameron’s gaze moved to the SUV behind them.
Then to the opposite sidewalk.
His entire posture changed.
“Avery.”
“What?”
“Get in the car.”
She heard it then.
A motorcycle engine.
Fast.
Too fast.
Cameron grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down just as the diner window across the street exploded.
A gunshot cracked through the rain.
Glass sprayed across the pavement.
Security men poured from the second SUV.
Cameron covered Avery with his body.
Someone shouted.
The motorcycle vanished around the corner.
Avery’s heart hammered against the sidewalk.
Cameron lifted his head.
His cheek was bleeding from flying glass.
But he was looking only at her.
“Are you hit?”
She shook her head.
He exhaled.
Then Avery looked through the shattered diner window.
A bullet had buried itself in the wall.
Exactly where Cameron’s corner booth stood every morning.
And for the first time, she understood.
May you like
Bradley Hayes had not been the danger.
He had been bait.
