Mary noticed his stare long ago. She lifted her head slightly, her expression calm but unmistakably sharp. "Have you seen enough?" she asked lightly. "Are you the owner of this restaurant?"
Donovan straightened instinctively. "Yes. My name is Donovan. I'm the owner."
"I'm Mary," she replied simply. "You run this place quite well."
Her tone was polite, almost casual, but Donovan felt as though she had already seen through more than she let on. The décor, the service, the flow of customers. Everything pointed to a man who understood both money and people. The prices were high, but the crowd was steady.
She also knew something else.
The people outside earlier. The word "young lord."
In the 80s, only those with noble heritage or in the Mafia group used such an address.
And the moment she heard his name, Mary immediately linked him to the man behind the underground exchange who had the same name.
