Chapter 3 - The Shadow on Fulton Street
The lobby was empty of other clients. The golden retriever from room one was gone; the cat owners who usually lingered near the display cases had vanished.
Standing near the counter was not Raphael Marino, but a younger man—broader, with a thick neck, a severe buzz cut, and a faint silver scar slicing through his right eyebrow. He wore a dark leather jacket that bulged subtly beneath his left armpit.
When Maya walked out, Barnaby trotted beside her. The moment the dog saw the scarred man, his body went rigid. A low, vibrating growl started deep in Barnaby’s chest—a sound Maya had never heard him make before.
The man didn't flinch. He looked down at the dog, his expression unreadable, then looked up at Maya.
"Miss Foster?" the man asked. His voice sounded like gravel grinding in a bucket.
"Yes," Maya said, stepping in front of Barnaby to block him from view. "Who are you?"
"My name is Leo. I work for Mr. Marino." Leo reached into his jacket—Maya flinched—and pulled out a black leather cardholder. He laid a small, heavy silver card on the counter. "Mr. Marino requests your presence for dinner tonight."
Maya stared at the card. It bore no business name, no title, only an address on Fulton Street and a time: 8:00 PM.
"I don't go to dinner with strangers," Maya said flatly. "And I certainly don't go to dinner with men who send their bodyguards to intimidate me in my workplace."
Leo’s scarred eyebrow twitched slightly. "It wasn't an invitation, Miss Foster. It was a request. There’s a difference."
"Not from where I'm standing."
Leo took a slow step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Barnaby immediately stepped beside Maya, his lip pulling back to reveal sharp, white teeth.
"Mr. Marino knows about your father," Leo said softly.
The air went completely cold in Maya’s lungs.
"My father died seven years ago in a construction accident," Maya spat, her fists clenching at her sides. "He has nothing to do with this."
"Your father worked for Marino Enterprises in 2016," Leo corrected quietly, his eyes fixed on hers. "The accident happened at Pier 42. Mr. Marino was the one who paid for his funeral when your family ran out of money. He’s the reason your mother's mortgage didn't default after he passed."
Maya felt as though the floor had opened up beneath her feet.
She remembered the anonymous cashier's check that had arrived in her mother's mailbox two weeks after her father's death. $50,000. No return address. Her mother had wept, calling it a miracle from God.
It hadn't been a miracle. It had been Raphael Marino.
"Why?" Maya whispered, her voice cracking. "Why would he do that for my father?"
"Ask him yourself," Leo said, stepping back toward the door. "Eight o'clock. Fulton Street. Bring the dog. Mr. Marino insists."
He didn't wait for her answer. He turned and pushed through the glass door, slipping into the rain where the slate-grey sedan waited with its engine humming.
Maya stood alone in the quiet lobby, her hand clutching the edge of the wooden counter.
May you like
Beside her, Barnaby nudged her hand with his damp nose, his tail swaying slowly, as if coaxing her back to reality.
"Who was my father, Barnaby?" Maya whispered to the empty room. "And what did he take from Raphael Marino?"
