Hell’s Kitchen felt strangely quiet that night.
Alvin Satō sat awake with little Ginny asleep in his arms.
Every time her tiny face tightened with the shadow of a nightmare, he’d gently smooth her hair or rub her back until she relaxed again.
She slept peacefully.
He didn’t.
By sunrise, Alvin had given up on the idea of sleep altogether.
Instead of his usual morning run, he picked up breakfast from Uncle Charlie’s street stall outside and headed back to Peace Restaurant.
He helped the groggy princess of the house wash up before employing a much less gentle method to wake Nick and Frank.
Frank opened his eyes to find his disabled son sitting beside the bed, having watched over him all night.
Shame hit him like a hammer.
On the very first day they had reunited, his eight-year-old son had ended up taking care of him.
It was humiliating.
The treatment had clearly helped.
His injuries already felt noticeably better than they had the previous evening.
Maybe he’d spent too much of his life believing he could shoulder everything alone.
Family changed things.
Even wounds that should have taken weeks to recover seemed lighter when someone genuinely cared whether you lived through the night.
Frank couldn’t have been prouder of Nick.
The only thing bothering him…
…was Alvin.
Who treated a kid like that?
If this had happened back when Frank still had his old temper, Alvin would’ve been riddled with bullet holes.
The strange part was that Nick clearly loved it.
He seemed to enjoy provoking Alvin, getting cursed out, then coming back for another round.
Kids were weird.
…
Hell’s Kitchen felt different that morning.
Alvin drove his battered Ford pickup toward the community school for his usual crossing guard duty while Frank stayed behind to deal with finding a place to rent.
The drive was suspiciously smooth.
Normally the trip took half an hour.
Today?
Fifteen minutes.
Every car he came across politely moved aside the moment they recognized the ancient pickup.
Alvin couldn’t help grinning.
Finally.
People are starting to appreciate everything I’ve done around here.
Guess that makes me something of a local celebrity.
The illusion lasted exactly until he climbed out of the truck.
Something was wrong.
Everyone who looked at him wore the same expression.
A mixture of awe…
Fear…
And absolute respect.
The leather-clad troublemakers who normally loitered outside the school had vanished.
The rebellious students who usually looked ready to start riots now stood quietly with their heads lowered, behaving so well the school suddenly resembled an elite prep academy.
Even Vice Principal Nelson, who was stationed at the gate every morning, stared at Alvin as though he’d witnessed a myth come to life.
Alvin frowned.
“What the hell happened?
Did aliens invade Earth overnight?” Nelson practically bowed.
“Good morning, Principal Satō!
After what you did last night…” His voice carried unmistakable admiration.
“Everyone in Hell’s Kitchen knows.” Alvin froze.
Right.
Someone had pinned Bloody Jensen’s massacre on him.
He considered correcting the misunderstanding.
Then looked at Nelson.
Why bother?
Explaining it to this guy would accomplish absolutely nothing.
Unexpected notoriety made his morning shift almost effortless.
Judging by the students’ behavior, every parent in Hell’s Kitchen had probably spent breakfast threatening their children with, Behave, or Principal Satō will deal with you personally.
From across the courtyard came Professor Cage’s booming, gravelly voice.
“Alvin!
Exactly how many people did you kill yesterday?” Alvin pretended not to hear him.
He climbed straight back into his pickup and escaped before the interrogation could continue.
Getting back to the restaurant early had one advantage.
He finally had time to prepare today’s beef properly instead of relying on leftovers.
He hauled nearly fifty kilograms of beef from the basement freezer, spread the cuts across several large trays to thaw naturally, then mixed bowls of cracked black pepper and coarse salt for seasoning.
Nearby, Ginny had enthusiastically appointed herself Jessica’s assistant.
She carried a tiny cleaning rag with the seriousness of a knight bearing a sacred banner.
Wherever Jessica wiped…
Ginny wiped.
Whatever Jessica cleaned…
Ginny cleaned.
By Alvin’s estimation, the dining room would end up twice as spotless as usual.
He rewarded her hard work with a kiss on the cheek.
The little girl immediately doubled her efforts.
She also knocked over several spice containers in the process.
Still…
Enthusiasm deserved encouragement.
The busy morning disappeared in a blur, and before long Peace Restaurant officially opened for lunch.
The regular crowd arrived almost on schedule.
There was only one noticeable difference.
Every local from Hell’s Kitchen stopped to greet Alvin with unusual politeness before taking a seat.
The visitors who had simply come because they’d heard about the restaurant behaved exactly as they always had, blissfully unaware of whatever rumor had spread through the neighborhood overnight.
Cooking fifty steaks barely occupied Alvin.
The real challenge was preparing the two dishes he’d promised Ginny.
Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs.
Braised Beef with Tomatoes.
The aroma drifting from the kitchen was so rich that several visiting customers complained they hadn’t been warned those dishes even existed.
The locals merely laughed.
Lunch eventually became Alvin, Ginny, and Jessica gathered behind the counter.
Each held a bowl of rice.
Each ate with complete concentration.
After finishing two bowls, Jessica’s sense of dignity as a teenage girl finally won.
She refused to get a third helping.
Alvin and Ginny, meanwhile, continued happily demolishing lunch together.
Eventually Alvin noticed Ginny slowing down.
When she requested a third bowl for the third time, he firmly refused.
Instead, he kissed her puffed-up little face, poked her full belly with a finger, and watched the pout melt into giggles.
Satisfied, she handed over her bowl.
Just after one in the afternoon, when business usually quieted down completely, four unexpected visitors walked through the front door.
Three police officers.
One middle-aged man in a tailored suit.
Alvin immediately recognized two of the officers.
Michael.
Scott.
Scott greeted him with enough enthusiasm to clap hands and bump fists across the counter.
Standing beside them, another officer, a woman in uniform, frowned so deeply it looked painful.
The man in the suit seemed considerably more relaxed.
He sat comfortably at the counter and smiled.
“Mr.
Satō, I’ve heard your steaks are legendary.
I’ve wanted to try one for quite a while, but something always got in the way.
Any chance today’s finally my lucky day?” Alvin studied him without answering.
The man chuckled.
“Right.
I skipped the introduction.” He offered his hand.
“George Stacy.
Police Commissioner for New York City.” Alvin shook it.
“I’m afraid you’re out of luck.
Lunch sold out already.” George sighed dramatically.
“That’s unfortunate.” Then he smiled again.
“Could I trouble you for a glass of water instead?” “Of course.” Alvin nodded toward Jessica.
“Lemon water for everyone.” Before Jessica returned, the female officer leaned across the counter, resting an elbow on the polished wood.
She tapped the surface twice with one finger.
“Can’t you make an exception?” Alvin ignored her completely.
Instead, he looked at Michael and Scott.
Michael gave an awkward smile.
“This is Captain Misty Knight.
She’s the new commanding officer for the Hell’s Kitchen precinct.” Then, with suspicious speed, he stepped backward.
Apparently he wasn’t particularly fond of his new boss.
Alvin smiled.
“Well, congratulations to the precinct.” He looked directly at Misty.
“Did they replace the front doors too?
The last few precinct captains went through quite a few of them.” Misty’s temper flared instantly.
She slammed her right hand onto the bar.
BOOM!
The heavy hardwood counter shuddered.
A deep dent appeared where her metallic fist had struck.
The restaurant fell silent.
The out-of-town diners had mostly left by then.
Everyone remaining was a Hell’s Kitchen local.
Instead of looking nervous…
They looked excited.
Every eye shifted toward Alvin.
Waiting.
Watching.
Wondering what he’d do.
Alvin didn’t even glance at the damaged counter.
Instead, his attention settled on Misty’s beautifully engineered prosthetic arm.
His expression turned thoughtful.
“Officer Knight…” He tilted his head.
“If you give me the phone number of whoever built that arm…” “…I’ll forgive the damage you just did to my bar.” Misty glared at him.
“Alvin Satō.” “We have reason to believe you’re connected to yesterday’s massacre on Long Island.” “At this moment, you’re a suspect.” “You’ll be coming with us for questioning.” Alvin looked past her.
Michael and Scott both lowered their heads, suddenly fascinated by the floor.
That told him everything.
The two of them had absolutely set Misty up.
Still…
Being tricked by someone else wasn’t an excuse for acting foolish yourself.