Chapter 5: What David Wanted
I let it ring the second time too.
The third time, I answered.
Not because I wanted to hear his voice.
Because three calls at 2 a.m.
meant something was wrong, and despite everything David had done, the part of me that had once loved him still reflexively checked.
"Sara." His voice was the same as always — smooth, practiced, the voice of a man who had spent years making people feel like they were the only person in the room.
"Thank God.
I've been trying to reach you all night."
"It's two in the morning, David."
"I know.
I know, I'm sorry.
Are you all right?
Someone told me there was an incident at Lumina tonight.
A server got hurt."
I went very still.
"How do you know where I work?"
A pause.
Just a half-second too long.
"I ran into someone.
A mutual friend.
They mentioned it."
"We don't have mutual friends."
"Sara—"
"What do you want?"
Another pause.
This one longer.
When he spoke again, the smoothness had thinned slightly, the way a coat of paint thins when you look at it in direct light.
"I need a favor," he said.
"A small one.
I need you to deliver a message for me.
To someone at Lumina."
Everything in my body went cold.
"What kind of message?"
"Just a name.
And a time.
That's all.
You wouldn't even have to say anything — just leave a note at the bar, or pass it to one of the staff.
Five seconds.
No one would know it came from you."
"A message to who?"
The pause this time was different.
Calculated.
"To the man at the VIP table," David said.
"The Italian."
I sat up.
The movement pulled at my shoulder and I barely felt it.
"David." My voice came out very quiet.
"How do you know about that table?"
"It doesn't matter how I know—"
"It matters enormously.
How do you know about that table?"
"Sara, listen to me.
This is important.
The people I'm working with — they just need a small piece of information passed along.
You're already there.
You're already inside.
It would take thirty seconds and then you'd never hear from me again."
"I'm not inside anything."
"You were taken to a back room tonight by Marco Vitelli's men." His voice dropped.
"That means you're closer to him than anyone I know.
Sara, please.
I owe these people money.
A lot of money.
And they are not patient."
The room felt like it had shrunk by half.
"You want me to spy on Marco Vitelli," I said flatly.
"Not spy.
Just—"
"You want me to pass information about a man whose son I just protected, to people who are threatening you over gambling debts, and you're calling it a favor."
Silence.
"David." I kept my voice steady with everything I had.
"If you call me again, I will tell Marco Vitelli exactly what you just told me.
Every word.
Including your name."
"Sara, you don't understand what these people will do to me—"
"I understand exactly what they'll do to you.
I also understand what Marco Vitelli will do to you if he finds out you tried to use me to get to him." I paused.
"Think carefully about which outcome you prefer."
The line went quiet for a long moment.
Then David said, very softly: "You've changed."
"You're right," I said.
"I have."
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking again.
I pressed them flat against the mattress and breathed — in through my nose, out through my mouth — until the shaking stopped.
Then I got up, crossed to the door, and opened it.
Nico was in the corridor, as promised.
Young.
Alert.
He straightened when he saw me.
"I need to speak to Mr.
Vitelli," I said.
"Now.
Tonight."
Nico looked at me carefully.
"It's past two."
"I know what time it is.
Tell him it's important." I held his gaze.
"Tell him someone just tried to use me to get to him.
He'll want to know."
Nico's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted into a higher gear.
"Wait here," he said.
He was back in four minutes.
"He'll see you," Nico said.
"Follow me."
Marco was in a study on the same floor, still dressed, his jacket gone but his shirt still buttoned to the collar.
He was standing behind a desk with a glass of water in his hand when I walked in.
He set it down when he saw my face.
"Sit," he said.
"I'd rather stand."
He looked at me for a moment.
"All right."
"Someone called me tonight," I said.
"My ex-husband.
His name is David Malone.
He knew I'd been brought here.
He knew your name.
He asked me to pass a message — a name and a time — to someone at Lumina.
On your table." I paused.
"He said he owes money to people who aren't patient."
Marco didn't move.
His expression didn't change.
But the quality of his stillness shifted — the way the air shifts before a storm, not dramatically, just differently.
"David Malone," he repeated.
"Yes."
"And you called me at two in the morning to tell me this."
"You said we weren't finished talking.
I thought this qualified."
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he moved around the desk and sat on its edge, arms folded, studying me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You could have said nothing," he said.
"You could have gone back to sleep and pretended the call never happened."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
I thought about it honestly.
"Because Leo is six years old," I said.
"And he showed me his dinosaur and told me his father is lonely.
And whatever you are or aren't, that child deserves to be safe."
Something crossed Marco's face — fast, controlled, almost hidden.
"You spoke to Leo tonight?"
"He knocked on my door.
He wanted to check on the flying lady."
Marco closed his eyes for exactly two seconds.
When he opened them, something had shifted — not softened, but opened, the way a window opens when the latch finally gives.
"David Malone," he said again, quietly, and this time it sounded like a decision being made.
"What are you going to do?"
"Find out who he owes," Marco said.
"And why they think you are a useful path to me." He paused.
"This is not a small thing, Sara.
If they already know you were brought here tonight, they have someone inside Lumina."
The word *inside* landed with a new weight.
"Julian," I said slowly.
Marco's eyes sharpened.
"Why Julian?"
"He was the first one to appear after the accident.
He knew exactly where you were sitting.
He knew your table number before the reservation was even confirmed — I heard him tell the host that morning." I stopped.
"I didn't think anything of it at the time."
Marco picked up his phone from the desk.
"Go back to your room," he said.
"Lock the door.
Don't open it for anyone except Nico."
"Marco."
He looked up.
"Be careful," I said.
"Whatever you're about to do — be careful."
He held my gaze for a moment that lasted slightly longer than it needed to.
"Go to sleep, Sara Malone," he said quietly.
I went.
May you like
But I didn't sleep.
Because at 3:47 a.m., I heard raised voices somewhere below me — one of them Julian's — and then a door slamming, and then nothing at all.
