Chapter 1: The Envelope Reaches Jonah Beneath the Chandeliers
The chandeliers scattered warm light across the restaurant, turning every glass and polished plate into something too bright to look at directly. I moved through the tables with one hand pressed against my ribs and the other hidden beneath my coat. My long brown hair was still wet, cold strands sticking to my cheeks and neck. The burgundy sweater beneath the coat felt damp against my skin.
The envelope was thick enough to change the way I walked. Beige paper, tightly sealed, packed with cash. I held it against my side as if the weight could keep me upright. It was a payment, but my body made it look like evidence. My cheek throbbed where the bruise had begun to fade. The bruises on my arm burned beneath my sleeve. Around me, people ate and watched one another without knowing that the room had already become dangerous.
Jonah Pierce sat near the center of the dining room, writing at a table set apart from the others. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and a gray waistcoat fitted over his muscular frame. His dark hair was neat, his posture relaxed. Nothing in his face showed surprise as I approached, though his pen moved more slowly when he noticed me.
My name is Stella Marlowe.
I stopped at the edge of his table. Pain tightened under my ribs when I drew breath. I placed the envelope in front of him and kept my hidden hand against my coat.
“From Dean.”
Jonah’s pen stopped. His eyes went to the envelope, then to my face. The look lasted only a second, but it was long enough for him to see the bruise. He lifted his gaze again.
“Dean sent you?”
I nodded once. Saying anything more felt dangerous. The restaurant seemed to narrow around us, the chandeliers lowering, the tables pressing closer. Jonah reached for the envelope. He did not tear it open or test the seal. He weighed it in his hand, considering its contents through the paper.
His attention shifted to my arm when my sleeve pulled back. I saw him notice the dark, finger-shaped marks circling my forearm. I pulled the fabric down, but the movement jarred my ribs. The room tilted slightly.
I stepped away from the table.
“I delivered the money, can I go?”
My knees held for one more step. Then pain cut through my side, and my hand flew from beneath the coat. I swayed. Jonah rose quickly and caught me by the upper arm before I struck the table. His grip was firm but controlled, stopping as soon as he had my balance.
Across the dining room, Lucas Hale turned toward us. He was large enough to make the black clothing look like armor, with tattoos visible along his hands and neck. He watched Jonah, not me, waiting for instruction.
Jonah looked down at the sleeve that had slipped back again. His expression stayed calm, but something in his jaw tightened. He looked at my cheek, then at the hand I had pressed to my ribs.
“Who did this?”
I kept my eyes on the nearest exit. The doors were only a few yards away. Beyond them was the street, the wet air, and the possibility that I had completed what I came to do.
Jonah did not release my arm.
“Lock the restaurant.”
Lucas moved immediately. He crossed the room without speaking, his steps measured as startled diners turned in their seats. The first lock clicked. Then the second door closed beside it, shutting out the reflected streetlight.
“Nobody leaves.”
The words traveled through the restaurant and settled over every table. Chairs stopped moving. A server froze with a tray balanced against one palm. Lucas remained by the entrance, broad shoulders squared, his attention sweeping the room before returning to Jonah.
Jonah still held the envelope in one hand. He had not opened it.
His eyes returned to mine, steady and unreadable.
May you like
“Tell me who hurt you.”
Behind Lucas, the locked doors stood motionless. I could feel Jonah’s hand at my arm, the envelope between us, and the entire restaurant waiting for the answer I had come there to withhold.
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