Dominic Russo had avenged Elena’s father without knowing Elena existed.
Marco dug deeper.
Maria Vasquez, dead of heart failure six months after Antonio.
Miguel Vasquez, framed for drug and weapons possession, sentenced to 10 years at Sing Sing. Evidence too perfect. Witness unreliable. Public defender useless.
Elena had lost everything and still loved three broken little girls back to life.
Marco drove back to the estate and told Dominic all of it.
Dominic listened in silence.
“Does she know I killed the men who killed her father?”
“No,” Marco said. “She only knows her father died and no one was punished.”
“Where is she now?”
Marco gave him the address.
Dominic stood.
“Take me there.”
He found her at the café.
Elena was behind the counter making cappuccino when she looked up and saw him sitting in the corner.
No bodyguards.
No armored SUV outside.
Just Dominic Russo in a black suit, watching her.
Her first instinct was to run.
She did not.
If a mafia boss wanted to hurt her, he would hurt her whether she ran or not.
So she finished the coffee.
She served customers. Wiped tables. Washed cups. Treated him like a ghost.
At two, her shift ended.
She stepped outside.
Dominic was waiting.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
His voice was not cold anymore.
It sounded tired.
“What do you want, Mr. Russo?” Elena asked. “Did you come here to get me fired from this job too? Or are you planning to run me out of the city altogether?”
He flinched.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes,” she said. “You do.”
He asked for ten minutes.
She gave it to him only because Rosa had called the night before, crying about the girls.
They walked to a small park and sat on a battered bench with space between them like strangers.
“My girls went silent again,” Dominic said. “The second you walked out. They won’t look at me. They hate me.”
“I know. Rosa called.”
Dominic turned toward her.
