Picking Up The Pieces

63. A Dealing

Two weeks later...

I stood still as Brooklyn pedestrians rushed to walk home, snow falling from the grey sky and turning to slush at my feet. On the opposite side of my street was a small Italian restaurant. At first glance, one might think it had been there for decades, but I knew it was barely a year old. I could hear the diners' inside, their thoughts, and how they were waiting for me to walk through the restaurant's doors. Some were excited, most were nervous or frightened. Only one was piercingly calm, repeating a single line over and over again:

"Your seat is ready."

I felt my phone vibrate in my hand, and I unlocked it to read the new message from Peter on a group chat. I had set up a fun dinner with my friend group over in Manhattan with the excuse of exposing Thomas to new food, and even my father managed to convince them all to go. My reasoning for staying back, I had told them, was just for public safety as my face would definitely be more recognizable now along with Hawkes out, but it gave me more time to write a note preparing to say goodbye. Better to explain than to leave without an explanation... I just wished I could give Peter and my father one final hug.

The restaurant's door had a bell that jingled as I entered, and every head but one turned in my direction. I lowered my grey rain coat hood, and I immediately felt like a sheep in the middle of a pack of wolves. My shoes squeaked against the dark wood flooring from how wet they were as I walked to a seat at the bar, uncomfortably aware of how much taller most of the men were than me. I stared forward, not meeting any of their eyes and flinching slightly when I heard the door lock behind me. I was almost to the chair when a tall olive-skinned man stepped in my way, a knife clutched in his hand.

"You've killed a lot of our men, bitch," he snarled, raising the knife and holding it against my throat. I stood my ground, glaring into his dark eyes. "Tell me why I shouldn't slit your throat right now?"

"Guessing from the energy in this room, I'd say you have a pretty long line to wait in," I retorted, and he bared his teeth.

"Let her pass, or that knife can find a place in you," Anthony Hawkes threatened calmly from his seat, and his henchmen lowered the blade. The man pushed past me, making sure to hit my shoulder with his own as he went, and I gave a glare. "Congratulations on the official adoption, Miss Stark. It must be nice to be officially part of a family again."

I didn't respond, tensing for a moment, and Hawkes turned in his seat. He had grown a few more grey hairs since I had last seen him, but there was a fire in his eyes, a hatred. It was the only thing giving his true feelings away. "Come, come," he welcomed me. "Sit."

I obliged, taking the bar stool next to him and letting out a sigh before passing him my phone. "They're all out at a dinner and think I'm at my apartment, but I only have an extra hour or so until they'd probably come back."