Chapter 38
Lana
“Hi, Lana, can you come here for a second?” Denis asks me.
After my dick-ass boss was murdered, M called his cleaning crew, and they took the asshole’s body away.
It was actually quite smooth after that.
His body was returned to the restaurant, and one of our cooks found him in the morning, and the police were called.
M’s influence on the judicial system really hit me at the time.
The police concluded that vandals broke into the restaurant and that the altercation turned extremely violent. The perpetrators were never to be found.
The case is still ongoing, but it will turn cold.
Because of Belmin’s death, the restaurant was thrust into Belmin’s son’s hands, Denis.
“How can I help you, Denis?” I ask my new boss.
“I know you just clocked in, but a customer is asking for you?”
“Oh, really? Which one?”
“Mark, Marco?” Fuck my fucking life. Marco was creepy in the beginning, but after the last time I saw him, I turned extremely wary of him. He knew my motherfucking real name.
“I’ll go to him right now,” I tell him as I put on my apron. I walk into the dining room, and there he is, Marco. I walk up to him with my notepad, and I don’t know why I carry this fucking thing because he always orders the same thing.
“What can I get you, Marco?”
“The same as always, and something sweet.” The way he says sweet makes my skin crawl. I try to smile, and I do, because I need this job, but my patience is wearing thin. How much do I have to endure before I get what I want?
“How about a slice of apple pie?” I suggest to him.
“That sounds good. Thank you, Osmanovic.” My pen freezes, and my eyes are glued to my notepad. I look at him, and his expression has turned deadly.
What the fuck is happening here?
“Marco, that’s not my name.” My past self is starting to emerge, and I don’t plan on keeping her around. I sit down opposite him. Other customers will have to wait.
“It sure is. Now, where is your lovely boss?” He is trying to bait me, and I’m not falling for it.
“He died. Isn’t that quite unfortunate?”
“I quite liked him. Did you know that he knew about your father?” I put my hands on the table, trying to steady myself. My hands are too still while his smile is too knowing.
“Did he now? And how do you know about my father?”
“Let’s just say that a third party got interested. And he is very eager to meet you.”
“What’s the name of this third party?” I ask him. Marco leans back into his chair and doesn’t blink.
“A man who could have been close to you had his son not been a prick.”
No. Fucking. Way.
The awful clock on the wall ticks too loudly, and my coworkers’ footsteps sound distant, useless. The air feels heavy, dangerous—like the moment before a match is struck.
He leans back, relaxed, as if he’s enjoying a private joke.
My mask slips for just a second, but I recover quickly by crossing my legs and putting my hands on my knees.
“Tell him that I’m not interested.”
“I’ll do that. And this diner is quite lovely, I have to admit.” I get up and smile sweetly at him.
“I’ll bring you your apple pie and the rest of your order, Marco Jasarevic.” Before he can say anything, I bolt to the kitchen and hope that is one of the last orders I have to put in. I have to fucking quit in a couple of days.
This place has become toxic and dangerous, and I need to get out of here.
***
The rest of my shift went by smoothly, and Marco left quickly after that. After my shift, I asked Emin to meet me in the parking lot near our work so I could talk to someone who understands what the diner is about.
I’m leaning against my car, and I’m replaying everything.
Marco.
The diner.
M.
Belmin.
My piece-of-shit boss’s last words really stayed with me.
“The diner… the diner… the diner…”
I didn’t show it to M, but I was freaked the fuck out. What did Belmin mean by the diner? Marco has given me an inclination of what the diner is truly about, and I’m choosing to eliminate that information from me.
It’s fucking hard, though.
It’s like my old life is taking over again, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I have done everything in my power to erase all traces of what I have been taught and who I was. Yet, those attempts seem fruitless right now.
A couple of days after the murder of Belmin, I called Emin and asked him if something was happening in the diner, and he said that everything was fine.
He also asked me to pick up his hens tomorrow, which is February second. He has been dealing with those hens for a couple of months, and I’m so happy that he is finally getting them. I got him his first batch, now he’s getting the second.
“Hi, Lana,” Emin says as he approaches me with a smile.
“Hi, Emin. How have you been?”
“Good. Setting everything up for my hens. My garden is finally ready to welcome them. Oh, I almost forgot.” He takes his phone out and shows me some pictures of his garden. “Here is where the rooster will go if he misbehaves around the rest of the coop.” He points toward a place near his flowers.
I look at him, and he smiles.
“You joker. You know what? What if you take the hens? I know a great farm where there are a lot more chickens, and they need a rooster.”
“Really? Are you sure?” I smile reassuringly. This is another round of me picking up hens for Emin, and I am happy to do so.
“Of course! At what time do you want me to pick them up?”
“I have a very short shift at the hotel that starts at one p.m., why?”
“Can you leave by 2 p.m.? There is quite a drive, and I want them home as soon as possible.”
“I’ll probably be done by then. Thank you for talking to me.” He hugs me, and he wants me to high-five him, and I do.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bye, Lana!”
“Bye, Emin!”
I go home and dive straight into bed, tomorrow is going to be a long day. M has graciously offered to bring me to the hotel, and I’m grateful. Even though he is the epitome of dangerous, I still crave him.
And I’m happy that I’m going to see him.