Marco Montanari

The cold wind nipped at my skin as I rounded the corner to the Alcove, a bag of fast food swinging at my side. It wasn't a long walk, but the bite in the September air made every step feel sharper. Lunch—a Big Mac meal with a Diet Coke and a double cheeseburger—was a small victory after being up all night tying up loose ends on the disappearing aliases.

The warrant issue still rattled in my head though. I hadn't told Dad yet—wasn't sure how to without him grilling me about where I got the intel.

Part of me wanted to let it hit him blind, make him play offense for once. But that didn't solve the real problem: someone out there knew too much. Someone on the inside—or someone we missed. The thought made my stomach twist.

None of it made sense.

I'd made sure all of our tracks were covered. Every fake alias, every dead body, every damn dollar—all accounted for. I must've missed something—A crack or worse, a rat on the inside.

Damn, I should've ordered the chicken nuggets too.

The Alcove came into view, its deep black brick façade standing like a monument to monotony—a place I kept returning to, despite everything else shattering around me. As I approached, I noticed someone lingering outside the doors. For a moment, I thought it was just another stranger waiting for an Uber, but something about the figure made my gut tighten.

She was standing just outside the door, her back to the wind. The chill had already worked its way into her skin, turning her cheeks a soft shade of pink, the color almost matching the subtle flush of her lips. A few strands of her hair had escaped the loose bun at the back of her head, whipping around her face, catching the light in a way that made her look almost ethereal against the harsh backdrop of the weather.

Rebecca.

Her head turned as I approached, and for a moment, something flickered in her expression—relief, maybe? It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual guarded composure.

"Hey," she said, her voice steady but quieter than usual, like she was measuring her words.

"Hey you," I replied, the words coming out sharper than I meant, a little too raw. I didn't want to feel this off-balance around her.

She shrugged, shifting the weight of the carry-on from one hand to the other, her fingers twitching like she wanted to do something, anything, to ease the tension. "Got any good hotel recs?"

"You know, you could've waited inside," I said, nodding toward the door.

Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to me. "I didn't want to deal with the whole 'ma'am, we don't allow luggage in our venue' thing."

"You'd be surprised. Happens more than you'd think. One time, someone came in wearing a python."

"Seriously?" Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Please tell me it was a Brittney Spears impersonator?"

I chuckled, pushing the door open. "Come. Let's talk inside. It's freezing out here."

She hesitated but then stepped in, dragging the carry-on behind her. The Alcove was quiet this time of day, the staff prepping for the evening rush. The low hum of conversation and clinking glassware echoed faintly from the back.

I led her upstairs to the office, the sound of her carry-on thudding behind us with each step. It was a soft, almost rhythmical sound, but it was enough to make me itch to help her—take the damn bag from her hands, anything to make this easier for her.

But I didn't. Instead, I focused on ignoring the way her presence made everything feel too close, too complicated.

"Wow," she said, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity as we walked in. "This looks... different."

I'd forgotten, she'd been up here before, back when it was made a private dining lounge.

The first night we met.

Now it was my place: four TV monitors mounted on the wall, a computer desk on one side, a futon and coffee table on the other, and a small bar tucked into the corner.

"Here," I said, gesturing to the chair by the desk.

"Thanks," Rebecca lowered herself into it, her posture guarded, arms crossed over her stomach. Her fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against her sides, restless.

"I like it better like this," she said, nodding toward the desk. "The room feels more useful."

"Yeah," I replied, setting the bag of fast food down on the desk. "Well, it's basically where I live..."

Her gaze lingered on mine for a moment. "Suits you well."

I nodded, shifting my weight slightly, trying to keep things casual. "So, what's the story? Why are you looking for a hotel?"

Her jaw tightened, and she glanced away, her fingers tugging at the zipper of her jacket. "Well, the original plan was to stay with my brother while I was on my 'trip' to nowhere. But everything went sideways when I..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "When I told you everything."

I leaned back against the desk, crossing my arms. "So big brother didn't take the news so well, did he?"

She shook her head. "He's worried I'm in over my head. And honestly, I'm beginning to think he's right," she added, her voice softer now.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, something unreadable in her gaze. Vulnerability? Fear? Hope? Whatever it was, it made my chest tighten. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closed it again, shaking her head slightly.

I waited, sensing she was struggling to find the right words.

"I don't know...," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Even coming here... I'm still not sure if it's the right choice."

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," I said, my voice softer now. "I'd be okay with you forgetting we met." It was a lie, but if it made her feel less burdened, I'd say anything. Do anything.

She shook her head, her gaze steady, locking with mine. There was no hesitation now, just raw honesty in her eyes. "That's the thing," she said, her voice thick with meaning. "I don't want to, I never did. Not even after that first night."

She didn't want to walk away. She didn't want to pretend. That was everything.

"Then I'm glad you're here." The space between us felt smaller than it should have. Too close. Too dangerous. But I couldn't bring myself to step back. Her lips were so close, I could almost feel the warmth of her breath, and I fought the urge to lean in again.

I tried to shake the thought of our last kiss, the way she pulled away—but the memory lingered, it burned. I straightened, forcing my focus elsewhere.

"I mean... that's why you came, right?" I said, my voice a little rougher than I meant. "So you don't get an earful from Mr. Fed?"

She met my eyes, her gaze flickering for just a moment before she looked away. "Yeah. That." Her voice was steady, but there was something in the way she said it—something she wasn't saying.

"Then stay as long as you need," I said, my voice low, almost a plea. "Stick with the original plan, hide out here, do your thing, and let's figure out who's framing my father. That futon"—I pointed to it—"it's a pull-out. Turns into a pretty comfy queen. It's not much, I know, but it'll do for a few days. I think I've got some fresh sheets around here somewhere..." I trailed off, my mind wandering at the thought of Rebecca in my bed.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, tension easing. "Wait, you want me to sleep here?"

"Hotels have too many eyes," I said, my voice steady. "The minute you check in, using cash or a fake ID—people notice. This place? It's underground for a reason. Security's tighter than Fort Knox. No one will even know you're here."

The phrase seemed to hit her harder than I expected. For a second, something sharp flickered in her eyes, but she let it pass, a faint laugh escaping her lips.

Then, I realized my mistake. "Oh, come on, you know what I mean. I'm not planning to hold you hostage, " I said, scratching the back of my neck.

"I get it, " Her voice softened, and the tension in her shoulders eased just a little. "But what about you? You said you basically live here?"

"I'll crash at my parents' for a bit, give you some space."

"Won't they notice?"

I gave a half-smile, "Unlikely. My mom would be too excited to even ask why."

But then her gaze shifted, something flickering in her eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or hesitation. "Marco, I umm..." she said softly, her voice steady but tinged with something I couldn't quite place. "Chris dropped me off at O'Hare this morning and I turned off my phone as soon as I got inside the airport. Didn't want it pinging."

The mention of his name hit me like a bucket of cold water, sharp and jarring. I took a step back, instinctively crossing my arms to keep from reaching for her. She trusted me, but hearing about him... It made everything feel more complicated.

I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension. "Right. Smart move," I said, forcing my voice to remain neutral.

She flinched slightly at my tone, her fingers fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket again. "That's the thing. It's not that sm–," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's expecting a call from me in about an hour; the time I would've landed."

I nodded, forcing a small, tight smile. "Okay, I can reconfigure the GPS data on your phone, make him believe you're in... where exactly?" I offered, the challenge lingering in my voice.

"A remote cabin retreat somewhere in Virginia."

"Easy."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You'd do that?" The way she asked—soft, almost hesitant—made something tighten in my chest.

She was too close, too vulnerable. And me? I was too... something. I didn't trust myself to figure it out, not when she was sitting there, brushing her hair back like she didn't know exactly what she was doing to me.

"Since we're helping each other out, why not," I said, keeping my voice steady. I grabbed the bag of fast food, pulling out the two burgers. "Here."

Her brows raised slightly, and she leaned back in the chair, her arms crossing over her chest. "Oh no, I'm good. It's your lunch," she said, her voice even but distant.

"You don't like McDonalds?"

Her eyes flicked between me and the burgers. "I do it's just—"

"Come on." I cut her off, my tone firm but not harsh. "You're my first official guest. Pick one. For me, please?"

Her lips parted as if she might argue, but she sighed and uncrossed her arms. When she took the Big Mac, her fingers brushed briefly against mine, sending a hum of heat through me. As she leaned back in her chair to unwrap the burger, I fought to keep my mind from roaming to her.

"See?" I said, unraveling the double cheeseburger for myself. "That choice wasn't so hard, was it?"