LEX'S POV
The first snowball hit the window with a sharp thwack. Lex didn't jump. She just kept wiping the same spot on the counter, her eyes on the greasy smear, not on the laughing kids outside. The second one cracked against the glass, harder.
"Hey! Knock it off!" she yelled, banging her palm on the window. The kids scattered, but the damage was done. A tiny, spider-web crack now ran through the bottom corner of the pane, right next to the painted "Romano's" logo.
Perfect. Just perfect. Another thing she couldn't afford to fix.
She threw the rag into the sink. Christmas music oozed from the small radio behind her, a joyful song about sleigh bells. She stabbed the power button with her finger. Silence. The only sound was the old fridge humming and the empty feeling in her chest.
The restaurant was dead. It was December 23rd, and every other place in the city was packed. But Romano's had three empty tables, a broken window, and her. Alessia Costa. Twenty-six, broke, and so tired of tinsel she could scream.
Her eyes drifted to the corner table, Table Four. The chair was pushed in, but in her mind, it was always pulled out. That was his spot. Leo's spot. Her big brother would sit there after closing, counting the day's cash, always slipping her an extra twenty. "For the champ," he'd say, grinning.
He'd been gone three years. The fight was supposed to be fixed. He was supposed to take a dive in the third round, lose on purpose to clear his debt. But Leo never knew how to lose. He fought for real. And he paid for it with his life. The official report said "accidental trauma." Lex knew the truth. It was murder, dressed up as sport.
The bell over the front door jingled. A rush of cold air blew in. Finally, a customer.
A man in a cheap suit walked in, his eyes darting around like a nervous bird. Not a regular.
"We close in an hour," Lex said, not moving from behind the counter.
"I'm not here to eat," the man said. His voice was raspy. He walked closer, but stopped a few feet away, as if the counter was a wall. He smelled like cigarettes and cold sweat. "You're Alessia? Leo Costa's sister?"
Every muscle in Lex's body went tight. "Who's asking?"
The man flinched at her tone. He pulled a thick envelope from inside his jacket and slid it across the counter. It landed with a soft thud. "He wanted you to have this. Said if anything ever happened to him, I should bring it to you."
Lex stared at the envelope. It was plain, white, sealed. "Leo gave this to you?"
"A long time ago," the man nodded. He wouldn't meet her eyes. "He said… he said there's a storm coming. For you. He said you should take this and run before it hits."
A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty window went down Lex's spine. "What storm? What are you talking about?"
"I'm just the messenger," the man whispered, backing toward the door. "I paid my debt. Don't come looking for me."
He was gone before she could say another word, the door jingling madly behind him.
Lex's heart hammered against her ribs. Her hands were cold as she picked up the envelope. It was heavy. She tore it open.
Cash. A lot of it. Bundles of hundred-dollar bills. And underneath it all, a single, faded photograph.
It was a picture of Leo, younger, smiling with his arm around a man in a sharp suit. Lex didn't recognize the other man. He had dark, cold eyes and a smile that didn't reach them. On the back, in Leo's messy handwriting, were two words: My Debt.
And below that, a name: Vittorio Scardoni.
The name meant nothing to her. But the word debt meant everything. Leo's debt is what got him killed. Was this Scardoni the one he owed? Was this the man who gave the order?
The phone on the wall rang, a shrill sound that made her jump. She let it ring three times before answering. "Romano's."
No one spoke at first. Then, a low, gravelly voice came through the line. "The messenger delivered the package."
It wasn't the same man. This voice was older, harder, like stones grinding together.
"Who is this?" Lex demanded, her fist clenching around the photo.
"A friend of your brother's," the voice said. It didn't sound friendly. "Consider the money a parting gift. The storm your brother mentioned? It's not coming. It's here. And it's looking for you. Leave the city tonight."
The line went dead.
Lex stood there, the receiver buzzing in her hand. Storm. Debt. Scardoni. Run. The words swirled in her head. She looked at the cash. It was enough to disappear. To start over somewhere no one knew Leo Costa or his little sister.
But this was her home. This dusty, failing restaurant was all she had left of her family. She was not a runner. She was a fighter. Leo had taught her that.
"No," she said to the empty room. Her voice was quiet but firm. "I'm not running."
She stuffed the cash and the photo back into the envelope and shoved it under the counter. She finished cleaning with furious energy, trying to push the fear down. She was just being paranoid. It was the holidays. It made everyone think about ghosts.
Finally, she turned off the main lights, leaving only the small one over the stove on. She bundled up in her worn coat and headed for the back door. She needed to get home, lock her apartment door, and forget this whole weird night.
She stepped out into the alley behind the restaurant, locking the door behind her. The cold air bit her face. The alley was dark, lit only by a single flickering light at the far end.
She took two steps toward the street when she heard it.
The smooth, quiet purr of expensive car engines. Not one. Several.
She froze, her breath forming a cloud in the air.
Slowly, she peeked around the corner of the building, toward the front curb of Romano's.
Her blood went cold.
A line of four long, black cars with dark, tinted windows idled silently at the curb. They hadn't been there five minutes ago. They looked like a hearse, sleek and deadly. No one got out. The engines just purred, waiting.
The passenger window of the first car began to roll down.
Lex pulled her head back, pressing herself against the cold brick wall. Her heart was a drum in her ears. The messenger's warning screamed in her mind.
The storm is here.
Who were they? What did they want? Was it Scardoni?
The window was down now. Someone was looking out, looking right toward the alley where she was hiding. She could feel their gaze.
She had two choices. Run down the dark alley. Or walk out and face them.
Lex clenched her fists, her short nails digging into her palms. She was not a runner.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stepped out from her hiding spot and turned to face the line of black cars.
The interior light of the first car came on, illuminating the face of the man in the back seat. He was older than in the photo, but she knew those cold, dark eyes instantly. It was him. Vittorio Scardoni. And he was staring right at her. He lifted a single finger and curled it, beckoning her to come closer.