Chapter 6 - The Morning After
Two days later, the morning sun broke over the rooftops of upstate New York, painting the brick facades of Castellano’s Diner in warm, golden light.
The brass bell above the front door chimed softly as the first customer of the morning walked in—an elderly regular named Sal Delmonico, who tipped his cap and took his usual seat by the window.
Behind the counter, wearing a crisp white apron with Castellano’s stitched over her heart, Amelia Hayes stood pouring coffee into a thick ceramic mug. A faint, yellowish bruise lingered along her left cheekbone, but her posture was straight, her eyes bright and clear, and her hands steady as a rock.
The kitchen door swung open, and Tony pushed through carrying a tray of fresh blueberry muffins.
“Morning, Amelia,” Tony said, glancing at her cheek. “How’s the head?”
“Good as new, Tony,” she smiled, adjusting her order pad in her apron pocket.
The front door chimed again.
Amelia looked up, expecting another regular from the morning commute. Instead, Vincent Castellano walked in. He wore his usual charcoal suit, but he had left his black coat in his car, and his dark hair caught the morning light streaming through the front window.
He walked straight to booth nine—the very booth where Derek Lawson had sat two nights before.
Amelia grabbed a fresh mug and a small silver pot of black coffee, walking over to the table with a calm, confident stride.
“Morning, Mr. Castellano,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “Coffee?”
Vincent looked up from the menu, his dark eyes softening as they met hers. A rare, genuine smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Black, Amelia. No sugar,” he said softly.
She poured the steaming coffee into his cup, the rich aroma filling the air between them.
“I hear we’re getting a new espresso machine next week,” Amelia noted, leaning against the edge of the booth with her pen poised over her pad.
“We are,” Vincent replied, taking a slow sip from his cup. “And I hear we’re also instituting a new rule at Castellano’s Diner.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, a slight, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Oh? What rule is that?”
“Any customer who raises his voice gets thrown out by the ear,” Vincent said deadpan. “And any customer who touches my staff answers directly to me.”
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Amelia laughed—a bright, ringing sound that echoed off the checkered floor and mingled with the hum of the old refrigerator and the chatter of the morning regulars.
For the first time in three years, the past was truly gone. The shadows had cleared, the sanctuary was secure, and as Amelia looked across the diner at the people she called family, she knew she was finally, completely home.
