Julian POV
"You think you can just drive away from this?"
I slam the steering wheel with the heel of my palm. The horn blares, a sharp, metallic screech that cuts through the heavy drone of the afternoon traffic outside Moon Cafe. The engine of my SUV idles with a low, violent rumble, vibrating straight through the soles of my boots. My knuckles are white against the leather wrap of the wheel.
"Julian, you need to get inside right now," Marcella gasps.
She pulls the passenger door open before the tyres even stop rolling against the concrete kerb. Her hands shake as she grips the plastic handle. Her hair is a tangled, matted bird's nest. A thick, dark smear of expensive red wine runs down the front of her designer cream silk dress, staining the fabric a bruised, ugly purple. She smells
