Chapter 2 - The Grip
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“What can I get for you gentlemen?” Amelia asked, keeping her voice perfectly level, her eyes focused on the center of the table rather than their faces.
Derek didn't look at the menu. He looked at her. His eyes traveled slowly from the frayed hem of her white apron up to the pale, faint scar cutting through her left eyebrow.
“I’ll take a black coffee,” Derek said, leaning back against the red vinyl booth. “And maybe you can tell me what time you get off shift, sweetheart.”
“Just the coffee, then,” Amelia replied automatically. It was a practiced deflection. She turned to walk away, eager to put distance between herself and the corner booth.
She didn't make it a single step.
Derek reached out, his hand snapping out like a viper, and caught her wrist.
He didn't squeeze tightly enough to leave immediate bruises, but the pressure was firm, heavy, and undeniably possessive. In a fraction of a second, the comforting smells of Castellano’s Diner vanished.
The room disappeared around her. She wasn't in Brooklyn anymore. She was back in Raymond Fletcher’s suffocating apartment in Chicago. She was back in a place where leaving a conversation required permission, where a heavy hand on her arm was always the prelude to a closed fist. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Hey,” Derek smirked, entirely oblivious to the absolute terror spiking in her veins. “I was talking to you.”
“Let go,” Amelia whispered. Her voice was shaking, but she forced the words out. She had spent three years learning that fear did not have to make every single decision for her.
“Derek,” one of his friends muttered, looking uncomfortably toward the counter.
Derek scoffed, rolling his eyes. He let go of her wrist, flicking his fingers as though she had annoyed him, as if she were a nuisance rather than a human being.
From behind the counter, Angela had been watching. She leaned over the Formica top, her voice a harsh, urgent whisper.
May you like
“Nobody puts hands on anybody in here. That’s Mr. Castellano’s rule.”
Amelia backed away, rubbing her wrist, her chest heaving. She had almost believed Angela. She had almost believed this place was safe.
