Chapter 5 - The Confrontation in the Lot

The morning air was crisp and smelled of exhaust and damp asphalt as I walked out of the apartment building and toward my sedan. My mind was reeling, heavy with the weight of sixty-year-old grief, stolen choices, and a family history that felt less like a distant fairy tale and more like an unfinished debt.

As I reached my car door, a sleek black sedan slid out from a parking bay across the street and blocked my exit path. The driver's side door clicked open, and Marco stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit. He didn't look angry now; he looked calculating.

"You spent two hours up there," Marco said, leaning against my passenger door with his arms crossed. "What did he give you, Tessa? Papers? A check? Promises of a inheritance?"

I gripped my car keys tightly in my hand, the metal digging into my palm. "He gave me the truth, Marco. Something you clearly don't know anything about."

Marco let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Truth doesn't pay the rent, kid. Truth is a luxury for men who have already won their battles. Salvatore is living in the past, and he's dragging you down into a war you can't possibly win. The family council back East doesn't care about a waitress from the Midwest. If they think Salvatore is shifting assets to a long-lost bloodline, they'll tear this entire operation apart."

"Let them try," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I unlocked my door and pulled it open.

Marco reached out, his hand gripping the edge of the door before I could swing it shut. His grip was firm, immovable. "Listen to me very carefully, Tessa. You walk away from this apartment, you give back that key, and you go back to pouring water at Table Four like nothing happened. If you don't, I won't just see to it that you lose your job—I'll make sure every debt your mother carries gets called in by sundown."

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I stared into his dark, unblinking eyes, feeling the cold clutch of fear in my chest. But underneath the fear, a hot, stubborn anger flared to life. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, wrenched the door from his grip, and slid into the driver's seat.

"Tell the council I'm not afraid of old ghosts," I said, slamming the door shut in his face and turning the ignition.