“I Want The Lemon Candy In Your Mouth,” The Mafia Boss Said—She Thought He Was Kidding Spotlight8

CHAPTER 1

Silas Mercer stepped out of federal prison at 4:17 on a cold March afternoon, carrying everything he owned in a clear plastic bag.

Six years.

Six years since he had eaten dinner without someone counting forks afterward. Six years since he had slept without steel doors closing behind him. Six years since anyone had touched his shoulder without making every muscle in his body tighten.

Two black SUVs waited beyond the gate. Gideon Shaw stood beside the first one in a charcoal coat, older than Silas remembered. More gray at his temples. More weight behind his eyes.

“Welcome home.”

Silas looked at him. Home. The word felt dishonest.

Three men Silas had once commanded waited nearby. All of them straightened when he approached. Nobody hugged him. Men in their world rarely knew what to do with affection that could not be disguised as loyalty.

Silas climbed into the SUV. Ten minutes later, he couldn’t breathe.

“Stop the car.”

The driver glanced into the mirror. “Boss—”

“Stop.”

They pulled over near South Philadelphia. Silas got out before anyone could open his door. Gideon followed.

“You want somebody with you?”

“No.”

“Six years and you still think saying no makes people stop worrying?”

Silas turned. “Six years and you still ask questions after I answer them?”

For a moment, Gideon almost smiled. Then Silas walked away.

He didn’t know where he was going until a neon sign caught his attention. Marty’s Diner. Nothing expensive. Nothing private. No security at the entrance. Perfect.

Inside, only four customers remained. Behind the counter stood a young woman with chestnut hair tied loosely at the back of her neck. She wore black jeans, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the tired expression of someone near the end of a long shift.

Sadie Monroe was twenty-three and had no idea Silas Mercer had once been one of the most feared men in Philadelphia. She was staring at her phone, calculating numbers in a notes app while slowly sucking on a lemon hard candy.

Silas sat three stools away.

Sadie looked up. “Kitchen closes in fifteen.”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee doesn’t require a kitchen.”

“Good.”

She poured him a cup. Silas noticed the glass candy jar beside the register. Empty. His eyes shifted toward her.

Sadie caught him looking. “What?”

Silas nodded toward her. “Give me the lemon candy in your mouth.”

Sadie froze. Then she laughed. Not nervously. Actually laughed.

Silas stared at her.

She covered her mouth with one hand. “I’m sorry. Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“That might be the strangest opening line I’ve ever heard.”

“It wasn’t an opening line.”

Sadie studied him. Dark suit. Scar near his eyebrow. Knuckles marked by old cuts. Eyes that seemed permanently prepared for bad news.

She smiled. “What? Did you just get out of prison?”

Silas took a sip of coffee. “Today.”

Her smile disappeared. “Oh.”

He reached into his coat, removed a clean white handkerchief, and placed it on the counter. “I haven’t had one in six years.”

Sadie looked at the handkerchief, then at him. Slowly, she removed the candy from her mouth and dropped it onto the cloth.

“There. Congratulations.”

Silas picked it up and put it in his mouth. The sourness hit immediately. His face tightened.

Sadie burst out laughing. “You asked for it.”

And then something happened that surprised both of them.

Silas Mercer laughed too.

Outside, Gideon watched through the diner window. He had known Silas for seventeen years. He had seen him threaten men, bury friends, survive prison, and walk away from blood without blinking. But he could not remember the last time he had seen Silas laugh.

Inside, Sadie returned to wiping the counter. She had one more lemon candy hidden in her pocket. She didn’t tell him.

And Silas, who had spent six years planning exactly what he would do the day he became free, suddenly found himself wondering whether the diner would still be open tomorrow night.

CHAPTER 2

Silas Mercer returned to Marty’s Diner three nights later.

Sadie noticed him before he reached the counter. He wore another dark suit, though this one looked less formal. No tie. The scar near his eyebrow caught the light when he pushed through the door. He paused automatically just inside, scanning the room before choosing the same stool as before.

Sadie pretended not to notice. She placed a fresh glass jar of lemon candies directly in front of him.

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Silas looked at it. “What’s this?”

“Preventive maintenance.”

“For what?”

“You asking for mine again.”

His mouth almost curved. Almost.

Sadie poured his coffee. “You know, most people say hello first.”

“Hello.”

“Excellent progress.”

Silas stared at her. She smiled and walked away.

For the next hour, he barely spoke. That should have made the silence uncomfortable, but it didn’t. Sadie cleaned tables while Silas drank coffee and watched the street through the window. Occasionally, she caught him studying things as though Philadelphia had changed into another country while he was gone.

At one point, he picked up the diner menu and frowned at the square black symbol printed beside the specials.

Sadie noticed. “You scan it with your phone.”

“For what?”

“The menu. I’m holding the menu.”

Sadie covered her mouth. Silas narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re laughing a little.”

Silas pulled out his phone. Sadie watched him open the camera, close it, then open something else entirely. Five minutes later, he slid the phone across the counter.

“Fix it.”

She laughed so hard she had to lean against the coffee machine. “I thought federal prison made men resourceful.”

“It did. Nobody there made me order a sandwich through geometry.”

Sadie finally helped him. It became their first ordinary joke.

He returned again two nights later. Then twice the following week. Sadie began expecting him. That bothered her more than she admitted.

She knew enough about Silas now to understand he was not simply a wealthy man with a criminal past. Tessa had searched his name after the first night. There were old newspaper photographs, federal charges, references to organized crime investigations. Sadie had read only three articles before closing her laptop. She did not want the internet telling her who he was before she had decided for herself.

One rainy Thursday, the diner was nearly empty when Sadie brought her phone to the counter.

“Want to see something?”

Silas looked suspicious. “That usually means trouble.”

She opened a photograph. An abandoned glass greenhouse stood behind a rusted fence. Several roof panels were broken. Vines covered one wall. The concrete path was cracked.

Silas frowned. “What am I looking at?”

“My future.”

He looked again. “Your future needs a contractor.”

“My future needs approximately thirty-two thousand dollars I don’t currently have.” Sadie explained. “Bellweather Glass House. It used to be a neighborhood garden center. The owner wants to lease it cheaply because nobody else wants to pay for repairs.”

She had been saving for almost three years. She wanted a floral studio downstairs. Weekend workshops. Small weddings. Maybe free training classes for women trying to return to work.

Silas listened without interrupting. “You really want that place?”

“Yes.”

“It looks condemned.”

“It has character.”

“It has broken windows.”

“So do you.”

Silas looked at her. Sadie’s smile disappeared. “That came out harsher than I intended.”

“No.” He looked back at the picture. “It was accurate.”

A silence settled between them. Sadie watched him study the greenhouse.

“Why that one?” he asked quietly.

She thought about it. “Because everyone sees what it is. I can see what it could become.”

For once, Silas had no answer.

Two days later, Sadie returned home after a twelve-hour shift and found an enormous arrangement of red roses blocking half her apartment door.

Tessa, carrying grocery bags behind her, whistled. “Well, your convicted millionaire has discovered florists.”

Sadie found no card. She didn’t need one.

The next night, Silas sat at the diner as though nothing had happened. Sadie placed his coffee down.

“Did you send me those flowers?”

“Yes.”

“They were ridiculous.”

His eyebrows lowered. “They were roses.”

“They looked like flowers a guilty husband sends after sleeping with his secretary.”

Silas almost choked on his coffee. “I’ve never been married.”

“Congratulations. You skipped directly to apology flowers.”

He stared at her. “What flowers do you like?”

Sadie shrugged. “Small white ones.”

“That’s specific.”

“No. That’s actually the opposite of specific.”

She returned to work. Silas said nothing else.

The following evening, Sadie reached her apartment and stopped. Beside the door was a tiny bundle of white alyssum wrapped in brown paper. No diamonds. No dramatic ribbon. No card. Just small white flowers.

Tessa looked over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s worse.”

“Why?”

“Because he listened.”

Sadie touched one of the tiny blossoms. She hated how much that mattered.

Across the city, Silas sat inside the back room of Mercer Cold Storage while Gideon explained six years of problems. Men imprisoned. Families paid. Territories lost. A brother buried.

Gideon closed the final folder. “You ready to come back now?”

Silas looked toward the window. For some reason, he thought about Sadie standing behind the diner counter, laughing at his phone.