Chapter 1 - The Bear in the Gutter
“Give him back!” the little girl screamed.
Malik Boone had meant to take the teddy bear out of her hands, not hurt her. But his phone was buzzing, the nightclub's back door was open, and the six-year-old in the pink raincoat had refused to move. When he tugged, she tugged harder. The bear slipped from his fingers and landed in a black puddle.
“Look what you did!” she cried.
She dropped to her knees on the wet sidewalk. Her red rain boots slid against the pavement. Above her, the neon CLUB sign buzzed blue and pink against the brick.
“Hey. Get up, kid.” Malik bent toward her. “I'm not—look, you can't stay here.”
“You promised you'd watch me.”
Malik opened his mouth. He had promised. When her mother had gone through the service door, she'd asked him for five minutes. He'd said sure before Victor Bellini called and ordered him to clear everybody from the entrance.
“Where's your mom?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“Inside. You know that.”
She stood, cheeks streaked with rain and tears. The bear lay between her boots. Malik looked toward the club's security camera and wished he'd chosen a different job.
The rear door swung wide. A silver-haired man stepped out in a black overcoat, followed by a driver who carried an umbrella he didn't dare open without permission.
Salvatore Bellini, sixty-four, had owned the Blue Hour for twenty-two years. Most men called him Sal. A few called him something else when they believed he couldn't hear. The club was legitimate enough to pay taxes, and dirty enough that Sal sometimes avoided asking questions about what happened after midnight.
He saw the girl before he saw Malik.
“Why's that child out here?”
“Private matter, Mr. Bellini,” Malik said.
Sal's expression hardened. “That's not an answer.”
He crouched, wincing at an old knee injury, and picked up the muddy bear by one ear. The little girl's fists clenched.
“Don't throw him away,” she whispered.
“I wasn't going to.” He offered it back. “What's his name?”
“Captain Sunday.”
“That's a serious name.”
“He's supposed to keep people safe.”
Sal looked up at Malik. His silence did more damage than shouting could have.
“Your name, sweetheart?”
“Rosie Ward.”
The last name meant nothing. But when Sal asked who her mother was, Rosie said, “Nora. She said Uncle Victor would give Daddy's truck back if she came herself.”
Sal's hand stopped halfway to his coat pocket.
His daughter Nora had not spoken to him in eight years. He had never met the child standing in front of him.
“Where's Victor?” he asked Malik.
“Upstairs.”
“Then we're going upstairs.” Sal held the service door. Rosie stepped toward it, then stopped.
“You're not going to leave Mom in there, are you?”
May you like
Sal couldn't answer. Not before he knew what his son had done.
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