The Mafia Boss Thought His Secretary Betrayed Him — Until He Found Her Scrubbing Diner Floors To Pay A Debt His Empire Created

PART 2

The armored sedan descended from downtown into neighborhoods where polished glass towers gave way to aging brick and barred storefronts. Weston paid Wren one hundred forty thousand dollars a year. She had never negotiated her salary. Her banking records had shown no extravagant spending, no unusual transfers.

If she had been meeting an informant, she had chosen an absurdly visible place.

The sedan stopped beside a cinder-block building with a cracked neon sign. Weston stepped into the rain, told Owen to circle the block, and pushed through the diner door alone.

Fluorescent lights flattened every surface beneath a pale yellow glare. He scanned the room for armed men or a frightened hostage.

Instead, he heard a familiar voice. “I can bring another side of ranch, but the manager charges fifty cents.”

Wren stood beside a booth holding a plastic tub of dirty dishes. Her office clothes were gone. She wore a faded pink polyester uniform beneath a coffee-stained apron. A crooked plastic badge read CINDY.

A mechanic struck his empty mug against the counter. “Cindy. Refill.”

Wren flinched so visibly the dishes rattled. “Coming, sir.” She hurried behind the counter and poured. Her hand trembled. Several drops splashed beside his mug.

“You get paid to pour coffee, sweetheart. Not decorate the counter.”

“I’m sorry. Let me clean it.”

Weston felt anger rise through him with startling force. He wanted to drag the mechanic from his stool. Instead, he chose the booth at the back and sat where Wren would eventually have to see him.

Her gaze finally swept toward the back booth. She stopped. The coffee pot tilted in her hand.

Weston held her stare and tapped one finger against the table.

Color drained from Wren’s face. She approached as though walking toward a judge.

“Mr. Kade.”

“Hello, Wren.” His eyes dropped to the badge. “Or should I call you Cindy?”