Chapter 4 - The Enforcer at the Door
Three days passed like a slow-moving fever dream.
Sylvia went through the motions of her daily life—flipping pancakes at the diner, scrubbing floors in the corporate office tower, and rushing home to help Mia with her homework—all while feeling like a ghost haunting her own body. She kept waiting for the police to knock on her door, or worse, for men in dark suits to show up and tie up loose ends.
None of that happened.
Instead, the only reminder of that stormy night was the heavy gold ring sitting safely at the bottom of a coffee mug in the back of her kitchen cupboard.
On the fourth morning, the illusion of normalcy shattered permanently.
Sylvia was wiping down the counter at the diner around 6:00 AM when a sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb. The diner was mostly empty, save for a truck driver nursing a cup of black coffee in the corner booth.
The door chime jingled, and two men stepped inside.
They didn't look like regular customers. Both wore tailored dark suits, sunglasses despite the gloomy morning, and had the unmistakable posture of trained killers. One of them was Vincent—the man with the broken nose who had driven the Mercedes that night.
Sylvia’s hand froze mid-wipe. Her rag dropped into the soapy bucket.
Vincent scanned the diner, his eyes locking instantly onto Sylvia behind the counter. Without a word, he walked straight toward her, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the checkered floor. The other guard stayed by the door, blocking the exit.
The truck driver in the corner glanced up, sensed the heavy, dangerous aura radiating from the two men, dropped a five-dollar bill on the table, and hurried out the front door without finishing his coffee.
Vincent stopped in front of the counter, leaning forward slightly. His expression was as hard as granite.
"Good morning, Ms. Hayes," Vincent said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
"I... I didn't say anything," Sylvia blurted out immediately, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the counter. "I kept my promise. I swear I didn't tell the police anything!"
"Relax," Vincent said, though his tone didn't soften in the slightest. "If you had talked to the police, you wouldn't be standing here right now. Boss wants to see you."
Sylvia’s breath caught in her throat. "See me? Why? I told you, I don't know anything about whatever war you're fighting!"
"The Boss doesn't explain his reasons, Ms. Hayes. He simply makes requests, and his requests are not optional." Vincent pulled a pristine white envelope from his jacket and slid it across the counter. "You have thirty minutes to finish your shift, arrange for someone to watch your daughter, and get in that car. If you aren't outside when the timer runs out, we will carry you out. Choose wisely."
Vincent turned on his heel and walked back out of the diner, sliding into the passenger seat of the SUV.
Sylvia stared at the white envelope on the counter. Her hands shook as she picked it up and opened it. Inside lay ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills—more money than she made in a month of scrubbing floors.
Her boss at the diner, a kind older woman named Mrs. Higgins, poked her head out from the kitchen. "Sylvia, honey, who were those men? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
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Sylvia looked at the money, then at the black SUV idling outside, and finally at Mrs. Higgins. She knew she had no choice. The underworld had reached out its long, bloody arm, and there was no hiding from it.
"Mrs. Higgins," Sylvia said steadily, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to take the rest of the day off. Can you please call Mrs. Gable and ask her to pick Mia up from school?"
