“Then do exactly what I say.”
Daniel suddenly laughed.
“You think she’s going to listen to you?”
He looked at Lena.
“You really think some rich stranger cares about you?”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because deep down, a small part of Lena had wondered the same thing.
Why would someone like Vincent Moretti come for someone like her?
She was a waitress.
She lived in a small apartment.
She spent her days carrying plates for people who barely remembered her name.
Vincent lived in another world.
But then his voice came again.
“Lena.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember what I wrote on the card?”
Her eyes moved toward the memory of that night.
The diner.
The coffee.
The black card hidden beneath the check.
If you ever need help.
“I remember.”
“Then believe me.”
The confidence in those three words gave her something she hadn’t felt in years.
