Zander
By the time I reached Papa’s coffee shop, I had broken at least three traffic laws and probably earned myself a ticket from every camera between Preston Enterprises and downtown.
I didn’t care.
The second Papa had called and said, Get here now, something inside me had gone cold. He wasn’t a man who panicked. He yelled, complained, cursed at delivery drivers, argued with suppliers over olives, and treated every minor inconvenience like a personal betrayal from the gods, but real fear sounded different in his voice. I had heard it only a handful of times in my life, and every one of those times had involved family.
This time it involved Gina.
I barely waited for the car to stop before I was out of it. The bell over the café door gave one sharp jingle as I pushed inside, and the r
