“Excuse me,” Cass said, her voice calm enough to make the room feel colder. “You’re disturbing the other guests.”
Every head turned.
Victor Malone stared at her as if a chair had spoken. She looked ordinary at first glance—black slacks, white shirt, dark apron, brown hair tied neatly back. Just a waitress. Just another worker trying to survive a bad night.
But Marcus Castellano saw what the others missed.
Her eyes.
They were not frightened. They were measuring distance, timing, balance, and weakness. They belonged to someone who had been trained not merely to endure danger, but to move through it.
“Lady,” Victor warned, “get down before you get hurt. This doesn’t concern you.”
Cass tilted her head slightly.
“Actually, it does,” she replied. “I work here. And when people bring violence into my workplace, it becomes my problem.”
One of Victor’s men laughed and lifted his weapon carelessly.
He had no idea that carelessness was the last mistake Cassandra Mercer ever allowed twice.