The table was slammed so hard that it made all the glasses in the restaurant rattle; the sound echoed throughout the room as the biker leader leaped to his feet, his rage sweeping everything away: “THAT NAME IS DEAD!” And just like that, the laughter, the murmurs, the movement… everything vanished, leaving only silence and the sound of his breathing as the camera focused on the girl, who didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink—she simply stood there as if she’d been waiting for this very moment.
“He said you’d say that…,” she replied in a low voice, and that was enough to shift something dangerous in the room—hands gripping their cups, chairs scraping slightly, the men sitting up straight without being told, because now this was no longer a joke—and the biker leader stepped forward, more slowly this time, his voice dropping, heavy with something he couldn’t hide,
“…who told you that, girl?” but she didn’t rush, she didn’t panic; she simply reached into her pocket with steady hands, all eyes fixed on her, every breath held, until she… spoke again, softer now, her voice almost breaking,
“My father… before they took him away,” and the words struck harder than any punch, a glass slipping from someone’s hands, barely caught, whispers spreading like a shockwave—“…they took him away?”—as the camera zoomed in on the biker leader’s face, capturing the exact moment and
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
