Chapter 3 - The Confrontation on the Sidewalk
The Navigator’s engine purred softly as Dante shifted into park.
Across the wet street, Evan paced back and forth in front of the brownstone steps, his expensive silk tie plastered against his wet chest, his face twisted into an ugly mask of fury and panic. Every few seconds, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, stared at it, and threw his head back in frustration.
Clare’s hand froze on the door handle. Her stomach dropped into a leaden knot.
“Would you like me to handle him, Ms. Bennett?” Dante asked quietly, his hand resting casually on the center console near a locked compartment. There was no threat in his voice, only the flat, mechanical certainty of a man who solved problems with absolute permanence.
Clare looked at Dante’s profile—at the faint, jagged scar running along his jawline—and realized with sudden clarity what kind of world Luca Duca inhabited every single day. If Dante stepped out of this car, Evan Mercer would vanish from Manhattan by morning, and no one would ever ask questions.
“No, Dante,” Clare said, her voice steadying as a cold resolve washed over her. “This is my mess. I need to clean it up myself.”
“He is unstable, ma’am,” Dante noted, watching Evan through the side mirror as the man kicked a wet metal trash can in frustration. “Mr. Duca instructed me to ensure you arrived home safely. Letting you walk into an ambush violates the spirit of that instruction.”
“Luca gave me a ride home. He didn't hire a babysitter,” Clare said, pushing the door open. “Wait here for two minutes, Dante. If I’m not back inside the building by then... well, you can do whatever it is you people do.”
Before Dante could reply, Clare stepped out of the car into the freezing rain.
The downpour hit her face like needles, instantly soaking her hair and chilling her to the bone. She slammed the door shut and began walking purposefully across the rain-slicked asphalt of East 74th Street.
Evan spotted her immediately.
He stopped pacing, his eyes widening in a mix of fury and manic relief. He charged across the street directly toward her, ignoring a passing taxi that slammed on its brakes with a screech of tires and a blaring horn.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Evan screamed, stopping two feet away from her, his chest heaving. Rainwater dripped from his slicked-back hair down into his eyes. “I’ve been standing out here for an hour! You blocked my number? You think you can just run away from me like a child?”
Clare didn't flinch. She stood tall in her soaked heels, looking up at the man she had planned to marry in six weeks, wondering how she had ever been so blind.
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“I didn't run away, Evan,” Clare said, her voice cutting through the roar of the rain with terrifying calm. “I left.”
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