They Sent a Broke Waitress to Pay a Deaf Mafia Boss, but the First Thing He Asked Her Exposed the Man Beside Him

Voss wrote on a clean sheet of paper, his movements slow, deliberate, and smooth.

He slid the paper across the table to Emma.

You have sharp eyes, Emma Brooks. Most people in your position would have looked at the floor and waited to die.

Emma picked up the pen and wrote back:

I’ve worked in a diner for five years. You learn to spot a liar before he finishes ordering his coffee.

Voss read her reply. A faint, almost invisible trace of a smile touched the corner of his thin lips—the first sign of human emotion he had shown all night.

He took the paper back and wrote again:

Frank Moran traded your life tonight. What do you want done with him?

Emma stared at the question.

The power contained in those ten words was terrifying. With a single nod, with a single stroke of her pen, she could have Frank Moran eliminated from the face of the earth. The men who had just dragged Nolan Pierce into the basement would make Frank disappear into the Chicago River before sunrise, and no one would ever ask a single question.

She thought of Frank standing behind the dirty glass window of the diner. She thought of his sweat-damp collar, his shaking hands, his pathetic, coward’s betrayal.

She picked up the pen.

Don't kill him, she wrote. Take his diner.

Voss read the paper. His eyebrows raised slightly in quiet intrigue.

Take his diner? he wrote back.

Emma leaned over the paper, her eyes fierce and cold:

Frank loves that grease trap more than his own soul. Take the deed. Turn it over to me. Make him work the night shift for minimum wage for the rest of his life under my management. Death is too easy for a coward.

When Adrian Voss finished reading her response, he threw his head back and let out a sound—a deep, raspy, silent laugh that shook his broad shoulders. It was a terrifying, magnificent sound, full of genuine amusement.

He picked up his gold pen, drew a heavy line beneath her text, and wrote a single word:

AGREED.

He then pulled a thick black leather wallet from his inner suit jacket. He pulled out a printed cashier’s check—already drawn on the Voss executive account—and laid it on the table.

The amount printed on the check was not four thousand dollars.

It was one hundred thousand dollars.

For your discretion tonight, Voss wrote beneath his signature. And for your new business capital.

Emma looked at the check. She looked at the six-figure sum that would permanently secure her mother’s care, fix her life, and buy Moran’s Grill outright.

“Thank you,” she said aloud, looking straight into Voss’s pale gray eyes, ensuring her lips were clearly visible.

Adrian Voss placed his right hand over his heart, bowed his silver head slightly in a gesture of profound respect, and motioned toward the door.