Three weeks had passed since the silence of Melissa's death had settled over Sunny's life.
It was a heavy, suffocating thing, so Sunny buried herself in shifts at the restaurant, hoping the heat of the kitchen and the rush of the dinner service would burn the grief away.
The morning air in the bistro was thick with the scent of roasted beans and sourdough when Alejandra walked in.
She was the picture of composure, save for a small, beige bandage wrapped tightly around her wrist.
Sunny paused, a stack of clean linens in her arms.
"Chef, are you alright?"
Alejandra didn't look up from her clipboard. "Oh, you mean my wrist? It's fine. Just a small cut."
"Are you sure?" Sunny pressed, her brow furrowing.
"Yes," Alejandra replied, her tone a sharp boundary. She turned to the floor manager.
"Sunny, could you handle table twelve for me?" Diego asked, interrupting the tension.
"Sure thing," Sunny said, heading toward the floor.
Alejandra watched her go, eyes narrowed.
Why is she worried about me? she wondered, the cynicism of her world bubbling up. What's her motive?
Table twelve was occupied by a man who looked like he wanted to disappear—black hoodie, baseball cap pulled low.
He didn't speak, merely pointed to the 'Breakfast Delight' on the menu.
Sunny offered a professional smile and retreated to the kitchen.
"Did he give you an order, or a ransom note?" Diego joked.
"Breakfast Delight," Sunny said.
Ines leaned against the prep table, her eyes on the security monitor.
"I think he's creepy."
"You find everyone creepy, Ines," Chef Mariana countered, sliding a plate of eggs and chorizo toward Diego.
Sunny took the tray and headed back out. She was halfway to the window when the world splintered.
The man by the window didn't order food; he drew a handgun.
The first crack of gunfire sent glass raining down like diamonds.
Sunny dove for cover as Alejandra burst from the kitchen.
With the grace of a seasoned soldier, Alejandra vaulted over the marble counter, snatching a heavy metal serving tray to use as a makeshift shield.
She didn't scream; she moved. She collided with the gunman in a blur of steel and redirected force.
Panic erupted. Customers scrambled for the exits—all except the man in the black hoodie.
He sat at table twelve, methodically chewing his eggs as if the shootout were a televised drama.
More men flooded through the front doors, weapons raised.
Alejandra met them head-on, her movements fluid but hindered—she winced every time she put weight on her bandaged wrist.
Sunny saw an opening and tried to bolt for the kitchen, but a heavy hand caught her collar.
A pistol whipped across her temple, and the world went black.
When Sunny's vision cleared, she was on the floor. The man in the hoodie had finally stood up, moving into a lethal "battle mode" that suggested he wasn't just a customer.
He intercepted a man lunging at Alejandra, catching him with a sickeningly powerful kick to the midsection.
"Sunny, get in here!" Ines yelled from the kitchen doorway.
Sunny scrambled to her feet, but a spray of bullets hit the doorframe, forcing her to dive under a nearby table.
Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate.
"There you are," a voice sneered from above.
Before the attacker could reach under the table, a bottle of vintage champagne shattered against his skull.
The man in the hoodie had thrown it with pinpoint accuracy before turning back to the fray.
Alejandra fought like a woman possessed, her eyes darting around to check on her staff.
Violence was a "natural occurrence" in her world—an occupational hazard. The procedure was simple: run and hide.
She assumed Sunny was already safe in the back.
But Sunny was still pinned. A man spotted her beneath the tablecloth and grabbed her ankle.
She kicked out wildly, her shoe connecting with his jaw, but as she scrambled to run, a cold, sharp silver of steel slid into her abdomen.
She gasped, the heat of the blade followed by an icy numbness.
The man in the hoodie, seeing the tides turn as sirens wailed in the distance, casually dropped a handgun on a table and walked out the front door.
The chaos subsided into a ringing silence. Alejandra turned, breathless, and froze.
Sunny was standing in the middle of the dining room, swaying.
"Sunny? Why aren't you in the kitchen?" Alejandra's voice was stripped of its usual iron.
The kitchen staff rushed out. "Sunny, are you okay?" Diego asked, reaching for her.
Sunny didn't speak. She just looked down at her hands, which were stained a brilliant, terrifying crimson.
"There's blood," Ines whispered.
"Were you shot?" Mariana asked, her hands shaking.
"No," Sunny whispered, her knees buckling.
"Take her to the kitchen!" Alejandra commanded.
"I feel pain... in my stomach... I'm dizzy," Sunny groaned.
Mariana pulled back Sunny's apron and gasped. The white fabric was soaked through.
"She was stabbed. She's losing too much blood!"
Sunny collapsed into Diego's arms. Alejandra didn't wait for the ambulance.
"I'll drive her myself. Close the restaurant. Take a week off—fix the damage. I'll take care of her."
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and forgotten dreams. Sunny opened her eyes to see a nurse hovering over her.
"Where am I?"
"Lay down," the nurse urged.
"You're in the hospital. You were brought in this morning."
"I need to go... my family..." Sunny tried to sit up, but the pain in her stomach and the throb in her head slammed her back down.
"Your girlfriend brought you in," another nurse said with a small smile. "She's been waiting."
"Girlfriend?" Sunny blinked, confused.
The door pushed open. Alejandra stepped in, looking tired, her expensive blouse stained with Sunny's blood.
The nurses filtered out, leaving a heavy silence behind.
"How are you feeling?" Alejandra asked, sitting stiffly by the bed.
"Head hurts. Stomach hurts," Sunny croaked. "But I'm okay."
Alejandra sighed, a sound of rare defeat.
"I apologize for the... inconvenience. I didn't realize you hadn't made it to the kitchen. I will pay for all medical expenses, and I understand if you wish to terminate your contract immediately."
"Chef," Sunny interrupted softly.
"I don't want your money. And I don't want to quit. I love the restaurant. I love working with you."
Alejandra went still.
"If you want to compensate me," Sunny continued, a weak smile touching her lips,
"Then just be my friend. Don't see me as an enemy. There are people who want to care for you, Alejandra, if you'd just let them. I know you don't like me, but that doesn't mean I'll like you any less."
Alejandra stared at her, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable.
"Would you like to eat something?" Alejandra asked finally.
The deflection hit Sunny like a physical blow. Her heart sank. She had poured her soul out, and it had been met with a wall of ice. "No, Chef. I'm good."
"I'll be outside if you need anything," Alejandra said, standing up.
"Chef?" Sunny called out as she reached the door. Alejandra paused. "Is your wrist alright?"
"It's nothing serious," Alejandra said, her back to her.
"Okay. Do you know where my phone is?"
"In the restaurant, likely. I'll find it." Alejandra stepped out and headed straight for the rooftop.
The wind whipped her hair as she answered her ringing phone.
"Hello, Abuela."
"Mi amor, I saw the news. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Abuela."
"Was any of the help killed?" her grandmother asked, her voice cold and transactional.
"We can compensate the family and replace her. It will be like she was never there."
Alejandra looked out over the city skyline. Sunny's words echoed in her mind: I don't want your money... let me be your friend.
"Corazón? Are you there?"
"I'm here," Alejandra said, her voice tightening. "I don't want to get rid of her just yet. I think... I'll keep her a little longer."
"Alright. Antonio said he would come pay you a visit."
"There's no need. I'll stop by the house later," Alejandra said, hanging up.
She looked out over the skyline, her mind racing. Who was that man who helped Sunny today? Was he there for her?
Are they partners? None of it made sense. She looked back at the hospital door. Who are you, Sunny?