Chapter 4 - Shadows Outside La Fontana
The rain was coming down harder now, turning the asphalt of Second Avenue into a slick, black mirror that reflected the neon signs of downtown Detroit. The wind whipped through the alleyways, carrying the bitter chill of late November.
Wren pulled her wool coat tighter around her throat, clutching her bag close to her chest. She usually took the bus, but tonight the last line had broken down due to flooding near the station, leaving her with a forty-block walk through the warehouse district.
Footsteps crunched behind her—heavy, deliberate, and entirely too close.
Wren quickened her pace. The rain drummed against her umbrella, muting the sounds of the street. She turned left onto Elm Street, a narrow corridor flanked by brick loading bays and rusted iron fire escapes.
"Hey! Wait up, sweetheart!"
Wren’s heart seized. Derek’s voice.
She turned around. Derek emerged from the shadow of a brick pillar, his expensive leather jacket ruined by the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Behind him stepped Nina, looking vindictive and cold, her arms crossed tightly over her puffer jacket.
"What do you want, Derek?" Wren asked, keeping her voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through her veins. "Go home."
"Not so fast," Derek sneered, stepping closer, blocking the mouth of the alley. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you? Walking out with a thousand-dollar tip while the rest of us bust our backs. Mr. Big-Shot Cortez gave that to you because you manipulated him with your little sob story about your brother."
"He gave it to me for doing my job," Wren said, backing up a step until her shoulders hit the cold brick wall. "Now move."
"Give us the envelope, Wren," Nina hissed, stepping into the dim amber light of a flickering streetlamp. "Split it even, or tomorrow morning we go to Mr. Rossi and tell him you were soliciting private tips from VIP clients behind closed doors. You'll be fired before you can clock in."
Wren looked at them—really looked at them. The petty cruelty, the entitlement, the small-minded malice of people who had never had to fight for a single meal in their lives.
"Go ahead," Wren said, her chin lifting. "Tell Mr. Rossi. See what Rafael Cortez does when he finds out the staff at La Fontana tried to rob the person who serves him."
Derek’s face twisted with ugly rage. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab the strap of her bag. "Give me the damn money—"
He didn't touch her.
Before Derek’s fingers could graze her coat, the deep, guttural roar of a high-performance engine tore through the alleyway. Twin beams of blinding, high-intensity LED headlights sliced through the rain, washing the brick walls in stark white.
A massive, matte-black Mercedes-Maybach glided silently out of the gloom, its heavy tires hissing against the wet asphalt. The vehicle didn't just stop; it occupied the space with terrifying authority, boxing the alley in completely.
The rear passenger door swung open with a heavy, oiled click.
A polished black leather shoe stepped onto the wet pavement, followed by the tailored trouser leg of a dark charcoal suit.
Rafael Cortez stood in the rain, refusing an umbrella. Water droplets slid down his sharp cheekbone and the jagged scar across his face. His dark coat was buttoned to the chin, and his eyes—cold, dead, and utterly devoid of mercy—fixed entirely on Derek.
Derek froze, his hand still suspended in mid-air. All the color drained from his face until he looked like a ghost.
"M-Mr. Cortez," Derek stammered, his voice cracking into a pathetic squeak. "We were just... we were just talking—"
Rafael didn't speak. He didn't have to. He took two slow, measured steps toward them, his sheer physical presence radiating a silent, suffocating menace that made Nina back up until she tripped over a discarded crate.
Rafael raised his right hand, his fingers moving with slow, deliberate precision.
Leave her.
Derek swallowed hard, shaking his head frantically. "Y-yes. Yes, sir. We're leaving. Right now."
He grabbed Nina’s arm, and the two of them scrambled past the Maybach, slipping and sliding on the wet pavement as they bolted down the street like frightened dogs.
Rafael watched them disappear into the rain before turning his gaze to Wren. The terrifying coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by a quiet, steady warmth.
May you like
He stepped closer, offering his hand to steady her against the brick wall.
Get in, his fingers signaled, concise and unquestionable. I’ll take you home.
