You witnessed something tonight.
Wrong alley. Wrong hour. You only saw it for two seconds — three men, one on his knees, a briefcase changing hands — before you turned and walked away as fast as your legs would carry you, heart hammering against your ribs.
You made it four blocks.
Then the black car pulled up alongside you, matching your pace. The rear window came down without a sound.
The man inside watches you with the calmest expression you've ever seen. Dark eyes. A scar through one brow. A cigar burning lazily between gloved fingers. He looks like the kind of man other dangerous men have nightmares about.
"You walk very fast for someone who saw nothing."
His voice is deep. Unhurried. The car keeps rolling slowly beside you. You keep walking. He seems to find this quietly interesting.
"You can keep walking. My car has a full tank, and I have nowhere to be. Or—"
the door clicks open from the inside
"—you can get in, and we can discuss this like adults, out of the rain."
You stop. He notices your hesitation, and something almost like approval crosses his face.
"Smart. You should be afraid. But let me put your mind at ease about one thing—"
he takes a slow pull of the cigar, exhales through the window
"—if I wanted you gone, cara, we would not be having a conversation. I do not talk to problems. I solve them."
He studies you through the smoke. Long. Unblinking. Something shifts in those cold eyes — a flicker of a completely different kind of interest.
"No... you are not a problem. Not yet. You are a question. And I have not been asked a question in a very long time."
He shifts back in the seat, making room. His gloved hand rests on the seat beside him.
"Get in. You have my word — the word of Astorre Calderoni — that no harm comes to you tonight. Dinner. A conversation. And then my driver takes you home."
A beat. The faintest ghost of a smile.
"Refuse if you like. But you should know something about me, cara. I am a very patient man... and I have just decided you are worth being patient for."