Page 13 of Fade With Me

The diner was steeped in eerie silence, a true ghost town. Hours dragged on without a single soul walking through the door. I sat at the counter, absorbed in my crossword puzzle, trying to distract myself from the relentless monotony. My pencil hovered over a stubborn clue when the sharp chime of the doorbell sliced through the stillness, breaking the quiet like a sudden breath.

Ezekiel walked in, exuding effortless confidence, once again dressed in a steel-gray suit that seemed to command attention. One hand casually buried in his pocket,the other lifted in a laid-back salute. Drawn by some invisible force, he headed straight for the back table, settling in with a familiar, almost territorial air.

I set my puzzle aside, abandoning the frustrating clues I’d been stuck on for hours, and walked over to him.

“Well, look who’s back,” I said, resting a hand on my hip. “Didn’t expect you again so soon.”

He settled back in his chair, completely at ease, as though he owned the space around him. “Came back for the outrageously good pancakes, obviously.”

I scoffed, shaking my head as I wiped my hands on my apron. “Figured as much.” I gestured toward the empty diner with a deadpan look. “You’re lucky to get a table today with howincrediblybusy this place is.”

His lips curled into a near-smirk as he adjusted his tie with careless precision. “I was expecting a wait, actually.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Or worse—I thought I’d have to eat somewhere else. Can youimagine?” His eyes widened in mock horror.

I tapped my notepad against the table, tilting my chin as I met his gaze, eyebrows rising slightly. I studied him for a moment, fighting a smile. “Guess the stars have aligned for you.”

He leaned in, his voice dipping low. The scent of his cologne, cedar and pine, washed over me, making my breath catch.

“Trust me—you havenoidea,” he murmured, something dangerous curled through every word. He winked, slow and deliberate. Heat twisted through me—hot, reckless, and impossible to ignore.

My thoughts tripped, and I blinked fast, trying to clear the fog. “So…anyway…pancakes: blueberry or chocolate chip?” I blurted, my words tripping over each other in a nervous rush.

He stroked his chin, fingers trailing over the stubble as he savored the tension. “I think I’m feeling chocolate chip today.”

I jotted the order, the pen jerking slightly as I tried to keep my cool. “Coffee to go with that?” I asked, aiming for casual, but my voice came out a little breathier than I meant.

He leaned back just a fraction, his grin widening as he studied me. “That’d be perfect, thanks.” His voice was steady—fully aware of the effect he was having on me.

As I turned toward the kitchen, I caught Sleazy Sal’s gaze from behind the counter. He was slouched, lazily wiping down the surface, his eyes locked on Ezekiel and full of venom.

What was his problem with this guy?

Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, the horrifying thought illuminated my mind.

Oh God. Is this a mob thing? Did Sal owe money to some ruthless loan shark, and Ezekiel was sent to collect?

It wouldn’t surprise me. Sal always had a hand in something sketchy—backroom bets, mysterious deliveries, whispered conversations that stopped the second anyone got too close. Shady was basically his brand.

The unthinkable crossed my mind.Could Ezekiel actually be a real-life hitman?The name alone had a dangerous ring to it, and when you added the luxury and designer labels into the mix, it all started to make a twisted kind of sense.

His casual remark echoed in my head:I’m here on business.

Did that “business” involve cutting off a man’s fingers, one by one?!

I blinked, my mind briefly short-circuiting as the image flashed. I shook it off, telling myself to lay off the true crime docs. All I knew was, Idefinitelywouldn’t be the one on a crime special saying how Sal “lit up a room.”

I entered the kitchen, placed his order, and grabbed the carafe of coffee. My curiosity grew as I returned to his table, inexplicably drawn to him.

As I poured the steaming brew into his mug, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the head of his spoon, just as he had before. It was clear he had an obsessive need for cleanliness—something that likely bled into his work. A man who couldn’t leave a single fingerprint behind.

I tilted my head slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make it sound like I was sharing juicy gossip. “See the guy behind the counter? That’s my boss, Sal,” I said, giving a small gesture behind me as I studied Ezekiel’s face. “Do you know him?”

He nodded casually, glanced over my shoulder, then returned his focus to his watch. “Nope, never met him,” he replied, his tone flat as if it were a perfectly ordinary statement.

I shot him a look, brow lifted as I planted a hand on my hip. “Really?” My voice dripped with skepticism. “That’s odd, considering he can’t seem to take his eyes off you.”

He’s lying. I know it.

His gaze flickered up to meet mine, confidence practically pouring off him. “Well, I am rather easy on the eyes. Can you really blame him for admiring the view?”

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