Chapter 23 Confrontation
Jeremy
Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside Sam's Diner in the Bowery. The place was small and cramped, the kind of establishment that served coffee and eggs to people who couldn't afford better.
I pushed through the door. The bell chimed.
The lunch rush was over. Only a handful of customers scattered in booths. Behind the counter, there was a young woman in her mid-twenties, with tired eyes and dark hair pulled back, who looked up.
"We're about to close," she said.
"I'm not here for food." I walked to the counter. "You're Elena Rodriguez?"
Her expression shuttered. "Who's asking?"
"My name's Jeremy Santoro. I'm looking for someone. A blind girl named Amelia. I was told you might have seen her."
Elena's hand moved toward something under the counter. A phone? A weapon?
"I don't know anyone by that name," she said defensively.
"Yes, you do. A private investigator came by asking questions. They tell me you know something."
"I don't know what you're talking about." She said shaking her head nervously.
"Listen to me very carefully." I kept my voice low, controlled. "I'm not here to hurt her. I'm not here to cause problems. I just need to know she's okay."
She looked at me straight in the eye. "And I should believe you because...?"
I thought to use violence on her torture until she opens up, but i decied againt it and said. "I pulled her out of a gang war a week and a half ago, so you should believe me." She ended up working at Crimson because she had no other options. Because the girls there threw her out, and she could be hurt or dead or—" I stopped. Took a breath and continue. "I just need to know she's alive."
Elena studied me for a long moment. Her hand stayed near whatever was under the counter.
"You're Santoro," she said finally. "As in, the Family?"
"Yes." I said confirmly.
"Then you should know that I don't trust made men." Ever. They're the reason half the girls I grew up and came to the city with are dead or worse."
"I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to tell me if Amelia's okay."
"Why do you care?" she asked again and I am getting tired of her questios.
Good question. Why did I care? She was a blind girl I'd met three times. Twice rescuing her, once while drunk. It made no sense.
However, it did make sense.
Because when I'd pulled her out of that ambush, when she'd looked up at me with those unfocused eyes and said "thank you" in that brave, broken voice—something had shifted.
And when I'd found out she'd ended up at Crimson because I'd abandoned her in an alley? That was on me.
"I just do," I said finally.
Elena's expression didn't change. "She's safe. That's all you need to know."
Relief flooded through me. "Can I see her?"
"No," she said immediately.
"I need to talk to her. To apologise. To—"
"No." Elena's voice was firm and cut through my explanation. "She's been through enough. She doesn't need some mobster showing up and complicating her life even more."
"I'm not here to complicate anything—"
"Yes, you are. That's what men like you do. You complicate things, you break things, and then you walk away when it gets messy." She crossed her arms. "Amelia's safe. She's got a place to stay. She's starting to rebuild. That's all you get."
"Elena—" Oh God, she is starting to irritate me now and I feel like chopping her head off.
"Get out of my diner, Mr Santoro. Before I call the cops."
We both knew she wouldn't. Calling the cops in this neighbourhood, on a Santoro, would cause more problems than it solved.
But I also knew I wasn't going to get anything more from her. Not today.
"Tell her..." I stopped. What? Tell her I was sorry? Tell her I couldn't stop thinking about her? Tell her that I've been frantically searching for her for a week?
"Tell her I'm glad she's safe," I said finally.
I turned and walked out.
As I climbed back into my car, Vincent's earlier words echoed in my mind: Without more information, I can't narrow down the location.
But now I had information.
Elena Rodriguez worked at Sam's Diner. She knew where Amelia was. And if she knew, I could find out.
The question was whether I should.
My father's voice: Focus on what matters. Family comes first.
Antonio's smirk: Some blind whore from Marco's bar.
Victoria's warning: Don't fall in love. Don't get attached.
They were all right. Getting involved with Amelia was stupid. Dangerous. I couldn't afford to be distracted.
But as my driver pulled away from the diner, I found myself looking back.
Somewhere in this neighbourhood, Amelia was rebuilding her life.
Maybe that was for the best.
Maybe I should let her go.
But I knew I wouldn't.
I had rescued her from one problem, only to expose her to another. And that was on me.
I'd find her. Talk to her. Make sure she was really okay.
And then I'd walk away.
That's what I told myself.
I almost believed it.
I waited there until Elena closed the dinner; as she stepped out and took a corner, I pulled out my phone.
"Follow her." I ordered
I spoke into my phone as my car idled down the block from Sam's Diner. I had ordered two of my men, Luca and Nico, to watch the place earlier before I arrived to keep an eye out for any information.
"On it, boss." Luca's voice came through. She is Heading east on foot."
"Stay back. Don't let her see you."
"Understood."
I leant back in my seat, phone still pressed to my ear. I should go home. Should let this go. Should listen to my father and focus on Family business.
Instead, I was having Elena Rodriguez followed like some obsessed stalker.
"She's turning onto Delancey," Luca reported. "she is moving fast and looks worried about something."
"Stay with her."
Minutes passed. I could hear Luca's breathing, the sound of traffic, and footsteps on pavement.
"She's going into an apartment building. Third-floor walk-up. The apartment is old and needs work.
"Which apartment?" I asked.
"Can't tell from here. Want us to—"
A sound cut through the line. Distant but clear. A crash, of glass or something breaking breaking.
"What was that?" I demanded.
"it came from the building. Third floor, I think." Luca's voice sharpened. "Boss, something's wrong."
I sat forward. "What do you hear?"
Another crash. Louder this time, then shouting—Elena's voice, high and frightened.
"There's a fight up there," Nico said in the background. "There are multiple voices."
My jaw clenched. "Get inside. Now."
"Boss, we don't have—" Luca started to explain.
"I don't care. Get in that apartment. I'll be there in ten minutes."
I hung up and leaned forward to my driver. "Delancey and Clinton. Fast."
The car lurched forward with speed.