Chương 3
The laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
His mouth moved slightly. Not a smile exactly, but evidence he had heard it.
Marcus returned. “Gerald is on his way.”
Damian’s expression closed.
“How did Atlas get loose?”
“Gerald says he clipped the leash to a café chair while he took a call. Delivery truck came through the alley. Atlas pulled the chair over, Gerald dropped the phone, and the leash slipped off the hook.”
“He clipped a hundred-and-forty-pound dog to a chair?”
Marcus did not answer.
“Fire him.”
Elena turned. “Tonight?”
Damian looked at her. “Would you keep him?”
“I wouldn’t decide while I was afraid.”
“He nearly killed my dog.”
“He made a stupid choice. That’s not the same as wanting Atlas hurt.”
“The result is the same.”
“No, it isn’t.”
His eyes hardened. “You lost your job because someone made a stupid choice.”
“I lost my job because Vanessa made several choices. She had time between all of them.”
Damian looked away.
Gerald arrived twenty minutes later in a soaked gray suit, breathing hard. He was in his late fifties, with rain plastering thin hair to his forehead. He stopped when he saw Damian.
“Mr. Vale, I’m so sorry.”
Damian stood.
Gerald’s eyes went to the bloodless dirt on the tablecloth, then to the surgery doors.
“I only looked away for a second,” he said. “The pharmacy called about my wife’s medication. They said the insurance— I should have hung up. I know. I know that.”
“You clipped him to a chair.”
“I thought it was bolted down.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No, sir.”
“You lost him.”
Gerald swallowed. “Yes.”
Damian’s voice dropped. “Go home.”
Gerald flinched as if struck.
“Sir, please. Let me stay until we know.”
“You’re done.”
Elena felt the old, familiar pressure behind her ribs—the same pressure she had felt when Vanessa caught her arm, when the dining manager looked at the floor rather than intervene. She was tired of watching powerful people use fear as proof they were right.
“Let him stay,” she said.
Damian turned slowly.
Gerald stared at her.
“He can’t help Atlas,” Elena continued. “But neither can we. If you fire him tomorrow, that’s your decision. Sending him away now is just punishment you can watch.”
Marcus looked at the ceiling.
Damian took one step toward Elena. He was not threatening her. Somehow that made the force of him more evident.
“You’ve known me for less than an hour.”
“I’ve known men who behave like you for longer.”
Gerald’s face tightened with embarrassment.
Damian glanced at him, then at the empty chairs.
“Sit down,” he said.
Gerald sat so quickly his knees struck the underside of a table.
No one spoke for a while.
Elena leaned back and closed her eyes. The restaurant replayed in pieces: the heel coming down, Atlas’s weak sound, Vanessa’s face when she recognized Damian. The moment had changed only when wealth entered the room. Before that, Elena had been a disobedient waitress on a dirty floor.
Her father would be awake. He slept badly on rainy nights because the screws in his left ankle seemed to predict every change in pressure. He would expect her home around midnight with bread from the kitchen and gossip about customers he pretended not to enjoy.
Her phone remained in the locker.
“Can I borrow yours?” she asked Marcus.
He handed it over.
She dialed from memory.
Her father answered on the second ring. “You forgot your key again?”
“No.”
A pause. “What happened?”
“Why does something have to happen?”
“You’re calling from a number that looks like the Pentagon.”
“I’m at an animal hospital.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Did you get a dog?”
“No.”
“That would be irresponsible.”
“I know.”
“You’d bring it home anyway.”
“Probably.”
She heard him shift in his chair. The television murmured in the background.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I left work early. I may have also quit.”
“You may have?”
“Vanessa said not to come back if I left.”
“And you left.”
“Yes.”
“Then you didn’t quit. She fired you with extra words.”
Elena rubbed her forehead.
“I’ll explain when I get home.”
“You need me to come?”
“No, Papi.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then bring the bread.”
She almost cried at that. Instead, she said, “I’ll try.”
When she returned the phone, Damian was watching her.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“You support him?”
“We support each other.”
“How long did you work at Laurent?”
“Eight months.”
“Vanessa owns it?”
“Forty percent, I think. Her husband’s family started it. She runs everything people can see.”
“And what can’t they see?”
Elena looked at him.
“That sounded like a question with an answer already attached.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was.”
He leaned back, accepting the correction with visible effort.
“She watches the dining room,” Elena said. “Chef watches the kitchen. Accounting watches labor hours. Nobody watches what happens between those things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as managers telling us to clock out before side work. Such as broken air-conditioning near the dish station. Such as cooks using milk crates as chairs because sitting looks bad.”
“Did you report it?”
“To whom?”
He did not answer.
The surgery lasted two hours and eleven minutes.
Dr. Cho returned just before one in the morning. Her cap had left a line across her forehead.
“Atlas made it through.”
Damian’s shoulders lowered by perhaps half an inch.
“We removed damaged tissue and secured the stomach to reduce the chance of another twist. His spleen was compromised, so we removed it. He’s stable, but the next twenty-four hours matter. We’ll watch for cardiac irregularities, infection, and signs of shock.”
“Can I see him?”
“For a minute, once we have him settled.”
Damian nodded. He looked toward Elena. “You heard her.”
“I heard.”
“He made it.”
“For tonight.”
His jaw tightened.
Dr. Cho gave Elena a brief look of approval. “For tonight,” she agreed. “That’s enough right now.”
May you like
Gerald bent forward with his hands over his face. Marcus touched his shoulder once.
Damian went through the treatment doors ten minutes later. He did not ask Elena to follow.
