Between Light and Shadow Part II

Maggie's Point Of View

Three nights, and I still couldn't understand what he was doing there, waiting for me.

When the clock struck eleven and the snack bar began to empty, he hadn't left, so he stayed until everyone left, helped me clean up, not that I thought he had ever done that in his life... so not wanting to be ungrateful, I offered him a sandwich, and he accepted, the two of us going to the kitchen, him sitting at the table while I made sandwiches for both of us.

“Smells good,” he said.

I gave a short laugh, shaking my head.

“Look, I'm not as good at this as Clyde. He's the master of sandwiches, I'm just a waitress filling in. But it should be edible.”

“I'll take anything you make,” he replied, and his smile grew wider, more sincere, almost provocative. And his eyes... Oh, those eyes. They sparkled in a way that made my cheeks burn.

I picked up the plate with the sandwich and walked over to the table, placing it in front of him. Dominic looked at me with an intensity that made me want to look away, but at the same time, it drew me in like a magnet.

“I really don't understand,” I began, crossing my arms, trying to look disinterested, even though inside I felt my heart racing a little faster. "You're here, eating cheap sandwiches and helping clean a diner... When you could be anywhere else, somewhere much better and more exciting.“ I let out a short laugh, trying to break the tension that was beginning to grow between us. ”Weren't you the one who said you came to Las Vegas for a farewell to life without responsibilities? Man, you're doing this all wrong."

He shrugged, the smile still there, but now softer.

“I wouldn't rather be anywhere else.”

I knew I should laugh it off, make a joke, but I couldn't. Something about the way he said those words hit me. It wasn't just what he said, it was how he looked at me, as if I were the only thing in that place that really mattered. I took a deep breath and went back to the square, finishing making my own sandwich.

When I returned, I sat down across from him, placing my plate on the table.

“You're not going to give up, are you?” I asked, shaking my head, still trying to understand why he kept coming back. Any other guy would have given up at the first ‘no’. But not Dominic.

He smiled, that easy, relaxed smile.

“You don't know me very well yet. One of my most striking characteristics is persistence. And when I want something, Maggie... I go after it.” He leaned forward slightly, without breaking eye contact, and I felt my heart race again. “And I wanted you from the second I laid eyes on you.”

My cheeks burned instantly, and I felt my body temperature rise as if someone had lit a fire in my stomach. I looked away, fiddling with the sandwich on my plate, trying to hide the impact those words had on me.

Dominic could have been anywhere else in that city. He could have been drinking, dancing, laughing with another woman. That was the reason for being in Las Vegas, after all, to say goodbye to a life without ties, without responsibilities. And yet, there he was, turning nights into days at a cheap diner, cleaning tables with me, just for the chance to be close.

How long could I resist someone like him? He spoke to me in a way no one else did. It wasn't just empty words or easy compliments. It was as if he really saw something in me, something beyond the exhausted waitress.

“Why do you do this?” I asked, almost without realizing it. “Why do you come back?”

He looked at me for a second, that sparkle in his eyes that I was already beginning to know well.

“Because it's worth it.”

I laughed nervously, focusing on my sandwich, which was safer. Maybe, just maybe, I was willing to see how far his persistence would go.

“Here,” Clyde brought me back to reality, placing a simple sandwich in front of me. “Eat this and take a breather, okay?”

I nodded, taking the snack and taking a small bite. It was tasty, and I was hungry. “Thanks, Clyde, really.”

He smiled and took one last look at me before going back to work. As I ate, I couldn't help but smile, thinking that that night with Dominic in that kitchen was the beginning of an incredible week for me, that my heart had gone somewhere it had never been before, and that despite everything, Dominic was right, it was worth it... it was all worth it, and I had confirmation of that every day when she saw Jamie's smile in the morning.

After a long eight-hour shift at the diner, followed by four more hours walking dogs, I was completely exhausted. My legs felt like lead, and every muscle in my body begged for rest. But now, with Jamie sleeping in the back seat of the car, rocked by the smoothness of the road as we drove home, I could finally take a deep breath and feel a little lighter.

The end of the day, despite all the exhaustion, was always my favorite time. It was when I had Jamie with me, when the silence of the night and the tranquility of having him close made me forget, at least for a moment, the weight of all my responsibilities. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw his serene face, his cheeks rosy from sleep. He looked so small, so fragile, and at the same time he was everything that kept me going.

In the morning, before leaving for work, I always knew I would have long hours without seeing him. So I enjoyed every second we had together. I made breakfast as if it were the most important event of the day, and laughed at the new words and noises he learned every day, even though I was racing against the clock. I knew that as soon as I walked out the door, I would slowly start to miss him, and that feeling would grow with every hour I spent away.

At night, when I finally got him back after a whole day without seeing him, that longing was overwhelming. It was as if all the tiredness in the world was replaced by a love that exploded in my chest, greater than anything else. Sometimes he was already asleep, as he was now, and I was content to just watch him. Other times he was awake, and I would shower him with hugs, telling him about my day, even though I knew he didn't understand half of the worries I carried.

As I parked the car in front of the house, I let out a long sigh, a mixture of relief and exhaustion. I got out of the car with one hand holding the baby and the other grabbing the bags—mine and his. The cold night wind hit my face as soon as I closed the car door, and I adjusted the blanket that covered him.

The parking lot was deserted, the pale light from the streetlights unable to dispel the feeling of isolation, and the silence was almost overwhelming. With the baby nestled against my chest, I walked toward the front door of the building, trying to reach for the apartment key in my jacket pocket.

That's when I heard footsteps. Several, coming from behind. My breath caught, and before I could react, I felt something cold and sharp pressing against the small of my back.

“Don't even think about screaming,” a low voice with a thick Italian accent whispered behind me.

I froze.

My body was paralyzed, but my maternal instincts screamed at me to protect my child. The baby squirmed in my arms, and I held him tighter.

“Please,” my voice came out shaky, almost inaudible, “what do you want?”

That's when they appeared in front of me, five men in suits, very well-dressed with no masks, all with the same cold, calculated expression. There was no rush in their movements, no hesitation. They had done this before, and they knew exactly what they were doing. Panic hit me like a wave, but before I could take a step, I felt firm hands snatching the baby from my arms.

“No!” I screamed, trying to pull him back, but their strength was relentless. “Please don't take my baby! He's just a baby! Please!” My words were lost in sobs, my vision blurred by tears that were already streaming uncontrollably. I struggled, but my legs wouldn't respond, my hands were shaking. Despair consumed every cell in my body.

The men continued, unshaken, one of them holding the baby with strange delicacy, as if dealing with something fragile, too valuable to be mistreated. The others calmly but firmly pushed me away as I struggled helplessly.

One of them approached the man holding the baby and asked, in a casual tone, as if they were discussing something trivial.

“Are you sure we shouldn't take the woman too? Or at least knock her out?”

My heart stopped. I felt my whole body freeze.

The other man, the leader, seemed to ponder for a second, then replied with the same coldness they had shown from the beginning.

“No need. She's worthless to us. Only the baby.”

Those words tore something inside me. The emptiness in my chest as they began to walk away with my son was unbearable. I felt my legs give way, and I fell to my knees on the hard parking lot floor.

“Please... please don't take my baby!” I begged, my voice breaking, drowned in sobs. "Do whatever you want with me, but don't take him. Please!"

But they kept walking, as if I wasn't even there, as if my despair was insignificant background noise. Their calmness terrified me. They were cold, calculating, and that made it all the more horrible. They were used to doing this. They weren't afraid of me, they weren't afraid of anything.

They got into a black car that was parked a few meters away, and before I could get up or run after them, the engine had already roared to life. I crawled across the ground, my hands scratching the asphalt, screaming and crying with a strength that didn't seem to be mine.

The car disappeared into the night, taking what was left of my life with it.