Chapter 3 - THE SHATTERED GLASS
Standing in the doorway, framed by the dark, wet street outside, was Dante Moretti.
At thirty-six, Dante possessed a presence that effortlessly devoured the space around him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and built with commanding mass, he looked entirely alien against the cheap, cracked aesthetic of Mel’s Diner. He was dressed in a pristine, tailored charcoal suit made of fine Italian wool that caught the harsh fluorescent light, paired with a buttoned-down black silk shirt and no tie. His dark, thick hair was swept neatly back from his brow, revealing sharp, angular cheekbones and a squared jaw lined with dark stubble. On his left wrist, a heavy, expensive silver timepiece gleamed beneath his cuff.
Flanking him on either side were two broad, imposing figures. To his left stood Bodyguard 1, a massive man with a thick neck and a jagged, pale scar running down his left cheek, his hands clasped low over his dark trousers. To his right stood Bodyguard 2, whose sharp, restless eyes instantly scanned the interior corners of the diner, his right hand resting casually inches inside his tailored suit jacket, right over his shoulder holster.
Dante stepped across the threshold, his leather dress shoes silent on the linoleum. He took two steps into the diner before his dark eyes swept across the counter—and landed directly on Sophia.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
For one excruciating beat, neither of them breathed. The ambient hum of the refrigerator coils and the ticking clock above the kitchen window seemed to vanish entirely.
Dante’s sharp gaze was locked onto her face, taking in her hollowed cheeks, the messy hair, and the familiar brown eyes he had searched two states to find. But as he took a step forward, his eyes slowly drifted downward, tracing the line of her throat, her neck, down to the strained buttons of her faded pink uniform, and finally landing on the unmistakable, heavy curve of her seven-month pregnant belly.
Every trace of his calm, calculated composure evaporated. His sharp jaw dropped a fraction of an inch, his dark eyes widening in a rare, naked display of total shock.
At the counter, the blood drained completely from Sophia’s face. A wave of ice rushed through her veins, numbing her arms, her legs, and her hands. Her fingers lost all sensation.
The glass coffee pot slid straight out of her limp fingers.
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CRASH.
The heavy glass vessel shattered upon impact with the hard linoleum floor right at her feet. Scalding black coffee erupted outward in a wide, dark wave, splashing against the hem of her pink uniform, soaking her worn white sneakers, and sending jagged shards of steaming glass spinning under the counter pedestals.
