Chapter Sixty Seven

Chapter Sixty Seven
Chapter Sixty Seven : Tangled Lies

The diner’s neon glow buzzed like a heartbeat in the dark, casting jagged shadows across the gravel lot. My hands trembled on the burner phone as I watched the hooded woman slip something into Marco’s hand—a small package, barely visible in the dim light. She moved with purpose, her face obscured, before vanishing back into the sedan and peeling out of the lot. Marco tucked the package into his jacket, his eyes darting around as if he sensed us watching. Dante stood beside him, his scarred face unreadable, his posture tense. My breath hitched, and I nudged Sophia, who was sketching furiously, her pencil scratching out the scene as a cover.

“Who the hell was that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the diner’s sign.

Sophia’s eyes were wide, her fingers pausing. “No clue, but she’s not just some errand girl. Did you see how fast she moved?”

I nodded, my mind racing. The notebook’s coded entries, the ambush at the truck stop, and now this mystery woman—it was all connected, a web tightening around us. I texted Henry: Woman just gave Marco something. Black sedan. She’s gone. Be careful.

His reply came seconds later: Got it. Stay low. Marco’s moving inside.

I glanced at Sophia, her face pale but determined. “We need to get closer,” she said, her voice low but firm. “If we can hear what they’re saying—”

“No way,” I cut her off, my heart pounding. “Henry said to stay put. It’s too dangerous.”

She rolled her eyes, her jaw set. “You ran into a firefight last night, Felicia. Don’t lecture me about danger.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the memory of the tire iron in my hand, the chaos of the truck stop, stopped me. She was right—I’d taken risks, and I couldn’t expect her to sit idly by. Still, the thought of her in harm’s way twisted my gut. “Fine,” I said, my voice tight. “But we stay in the car, and you keep sketching. No heroics.”

She nodded, her pencil moving again, capturing the diner’s flickering lights. I scanned the lot, my eyes locking on Marco and Dante as they disappeared through the diner’s entrance. The SUV they’d arrived in was still parked, its driver’s side door ajar, a shadow moving inside. Another player? My stomach churned, the notebook’s weight in my jacket a constant reminder of the stakes.

“Let’s move the car,” I said, starting the engine. “Just a bit closer, but out of sight.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue as I eased the car behind a cluster of trucks, giving us a better view of the diner’s windows without exposing us. My phone buzzed again—Henry: They’re at a booth in the back. Leo’s watching the exit. Don’t do anything stupid.

I snorted, typing back: You’re one to talk. But my fingers hesitated before hitting send, the memory of his kiss last night—desperate, grounding—softening my anger. I sent the message, then leaned forward, squinting through the diner’s grimy glass. Marco and Dante sat across from each other, their heads bent low, the package nowhere in sight. A waitress poured coffee, oblivious to the tension.

Sophia’s voice broke my focus. “Felicia, look.” She pointed to the notebook, which she’d pulled from my jacket. She’d flipped to a new page, one I hadn’t noticed, with a single entry in different handwriting—sloppier, hurried: C. 6/5/25. Diner. Watch her.

“C?” I whispered, my blood running cold. “Who’s C?”

Sophia’s face paled. “Could it be… me? Sophia Carter?”

I shook my head, my heart racing. “No, it can’t be. You’re not involved in this.” But doubt gnawed at me. The notebook had my name, Henry’s, Leo’s—why not Sophia’s? She was my sister, my weakness as much as I was Henry’s. If Dante knew that, he’d use her without hesitation.

“We need to tell Henry,” I said, texting him the new entry. Notebook has “C. 6/5/25. Diner. Watch her.” Could be Sophia. What’s happening in there?

No reply. The silence stretched, each second a knife in my chest. I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes flicking between the diner and the SUV. The shadow inside was gone, the door now closed. “Something’s wrong,” I muttered, my instincts screaming.

Sophia grabbed my arm. “Felicia, we can’t just sit here. If that’s about me—”

“Stop,” I said, my voice sharp. “We don’t know what it means. We wait for Henry.”

But waiting felt like betrayal, every moment a risk to him, to us. Then, movement—a figure slipping out the diner’s back door. Leo, his face tense, his gun tucked into his waistband. He scanned the lot, his eyes locking on our car. He jogged over, crouching beside the driver’s window.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, his voice low. “I told you to stay back.”

“We moved closer to see,” I said, my tone defiant. “What’s going on? Where’s Henry?”

“Inside, trying to get Marco to talk,” Leo said, his eyes darting to the diner. “Dante’s playing hardball—says Henry owes him for an old job, something from before he left. Marco’s just the muscle.”

“And the woman?” Sophia asked, her voice trembling. “She gave Marco something.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “What woman?”

I described her—hooded, quick, the black sedan. Leo’s face darkened. “That’s not good. Sounds like Claire.”

“Claire?” I echoed, my heart sinking. “Who’s Claire?”

Leo hesitated, his jaw tight. “Vito’s sister. She’s been off the grid since he went down, but if she’s back, working with Dante…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking to the notebook in Sophia’s hands. “Let me see that.”

I handed it over, my stomach twisting as he flipped to the page with “C.” His face went still. “Claire. That’s who this is. She’s dangerous, Felicia. Smarter than Dante, meaner than Marco. If she’s here, this just got a lot worse.”

The revelation hit like a punch. Claire—Vito’s sister, a new player in this deadly game. The notebook’s cryptic “C” wasn’t Sophia, but it didn’t ease my fear. If anything, it made it worse. A woman tied to Henry’s past, someone with enough power to orchestrate this—it shifted the ground beneath us.

“Why didn’t you mention her before?” I demanded, my voice rising. “You said you had ears in the crew!”

“I didn’t know she was back!” Leo snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. “She disappeared after Vito’s arrest. Nobody’s seen her in years.”

“Except now,” Sophia said, her tone biting. “And she’s handing packages to Marco, targeting us. Great job, Leo.”

“Watch it,” he growled, but there was guilt in his eyes. “I’m trying to help.”

“Then help,” I said, my voice cold. “Get Henry out of there. Now.”

Leo nodded, his face grim. “Stay here. I mean it this time.” He slipped back toward the diner, disappearing into the shadows.

Sophia grabbed my hand, her grip tight. “Felicia, I’m scared. This Claire woman… what if she knows about me? About us?”

I squeezed her hand, my heart aching. “We’ll protect you. I promise.”

But my words felt hollow, the notebook’s secrets unraveling faster than I could process. My phone buzzed—Henry: Marco’s talking. Says Claire’s running the show, not Dante. Stay put. I’m coming out.

Relief flooded me, but it was short-lived. A scream tore through the night, high and sharp, from inside the diner. My blood froze, and Sophia gasped, her nails digging into my arm. “That’s Henry,” she whispered.

I didn’t think. I grabbed the tire iron from the back seat and opened the car door, ignoring Sophia’s protests. “Stay here,” I said, my voice shaking. “Text Leo. Tell him to move.”

“Felicia, no!” she hissed, but I was already out, crouching low as I ran toward the diner. The scream hadn’t been Henry’s—it was a woman’s, raw and desperate. Claire? The waitress? I didn’t know, but it meant trouble, and Henry was in the middle of it.

The back door was ajar, and I slipped inside, the tire iron heavy in my hand. The hallway was dark, the air thick with the smell of coffee and fear. Voices came from the dining area, loud and chaotic.

“You think you can play me?” Dante’s voice, low and menacing. “You’re done, Henry.”

“I’m not playing,” Henry shot back, his tone steady but strained. “I told you, I’m out.”

A woman’s voice cut in—cold, sharp, unfamiliar. “You don’t get to decide that, sweetheart. You owe us. And I always collect.”

Claire. It had to be. My heart pounded as I peeked around the corner. Henry stood in the center of the dining area, his gun raised, facing Dante and a woman—tall, blonde, her face sharp and beautiful, her eyes like ice. Marco was slumped in a booth, blood on his face, his hands bound. The waitress cowered behind the counter, her scream still echoing in my ears.

“You set me up,” Henry said, his voice tight. “That notebook, the ambush—it was all you, Claire.”

She smiled, a predator’s grin. “You’re smarter than I remember. But not smart enough to stay gone.”

I gripped the tire iron, my mind racing. Where was Leo? I scanned the room, spotting him creeping along the far wall, his gun drawn. He caught my eye, his face twisting with anger, but he motioned for me to stay back. I ignored him, inching closer, my breath shallow.

“Why Felicia?” Henry demanded, his voice raw. “Why drag her into this?”

Claire laughed, a chilling sound. “Because she’s your heart, Henry. Break her, and you’re mine again.”

Rage surged through me, hot and blinding. I stepped out, tire iron raised, my voice cutting through the tension. “I’m not his weakness. I’m his strength.”

Claire’s head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. “Well, look who’s here. The med student with a death wish.”

Henry’s face paled. “Felicia, get out!”

“No,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear. “This ends now.”

Dante raised his gun, but Leo moved faster, tackling him to the ground. The weapon skidded across the floor, and Claire lunged for it, her movements fluid, lethal. I swung the tire iron, catching her arm, and she hissed, stumbling back. Henry grabbed me, pulling me behind him, his gun trained on Claire.

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice shaking with fury. “You want me? Leave her out of it.”

Claire straightened, her arm bleeding, her smile cold. “You don’t get to make demands, Henry. You never did.”

The diner’s door burst open, and Sophia stumbled in, her eyes wide, a phone in her hand. “Cops are coming,” she blurted. “I called them.”

Claire’s face twisted with rage, and she bolted for the back door, Dante scrambling after her. Leo fired, the shot grazing Dante’s shoulder, but they were gone, disappearing into the night. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, and Henry lowered his gun, his breath ragged.

“What the hell, Sophia?” I snapped, my heart still pounding. “I told you to stay in the car!”

“I couldn’t let you die!” she shouted, tears in her eyes. “You’re my sister!”

Henry pulled us both into his arms, his voice breaking. “You’re both insane. And I love you for it.”

Leo groaned, clutching his side, his bandage seeping. “Can we save the family moment for after we deal with the cops?”

The police arrived, lights flashing, and we gave a carefully edited story—unknown attackers, a robbery gone wrong. They took Marco, still dazed, and promised to follow up. Leo slipped out before they could question him, his face grim as he muttered about “cleaning up.” Back at the apartment, we collapsed, exhaustion and adrenaline crashing over us.

Henry sat beside me on the couch, his hand in mine, his thumb tracing my knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “For dragging you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me,” I said, leaning into him. “I chose you. All of you.”

He kissed me, soft and slow, his lips warm against mine. The world fell away, leaving just us, and I clung to him, needing this moment to anchor me.

Sophia cleared her throat, her voice teasing but strained. “Get a room, you two.”

I laughed, pulling back, and Henry grinned, his eyes soft. But the notebook lay on the table, Claire’s name a new shadow. She was out there, and this wasn’t over. As Henry held me, I knew we’d face it together, but the cost was rising, and I wasn’t sure how much we could pay.