Simple.
Clean.
Safe.
I changed my outfit 4 times before settling on a simple blue dress I usually saved for job interviews. I paired it with my only decent coat, a black wool peacoat I had found at a thrift store 2 winters earlier. I wanted to look respectable, but not like I was trying too hard.
I pulled my brown hair into a neat bun, applied minimal makeup, and tried to calm the flutter of anxiety in my stomach.
At 6:58 p.m., my phone buzzed with a text that said only, Outside.
I grabbed Marco’s backpack and the envelope of cash, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs.
A black SUV identical to the one from the previous night idled at the curb, its engine a low purr in the quiet evening. The same large man from the coffee shop stood beside it, opening the rear door as I approached.
“Miss Morgan,” he said with a curt nod.
“Hi.”
I clutched the backpack tighter.
“I have Marco’s things.”
He did not respond. He only gestured for me to get into the vehicle.
The interior was luxurious: black leather seats, tinted windows, a partition separating us from the driver. The man climbed in after me, and we pulled away from the curb.
“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Mr. Russo’s residence.”
His eyes remained focused straight ahead.
“I just wanted to return the backpack and the money.”
I held them up.
“There’s no need—”
“Mr. Russo insists on thanking you personally.”
