Chapter 2 - The Name Marco Feared
Grace avoided Vincent’s table for twenty minutes.
Eventually, her manager cornered her near the kitchen.
“Table fourteen needs another whiskey.”
“Send Daniel.”
“They asked for you.”
“Of course they did.”
Grace carried the glass over.
Vincent was alone now.
His three companions had disappeared.
She set the drink down.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Grace waited.
“Sit down.”
“I’m working.”
“Then stand.”
She frowned.
“That wasn’t much of a choice.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Marco Ricci. How long has he been bothering you?”
“That’s personal.”
“He threatened you.”
“And you stopped him.”
“For tonight.”
Grace folded her arms.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“That men like Ricci rarely stop because someone embarrassed them in a restaurant.”
“You know him?”
“I know of him.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It should.”
Grace studied him.
“Who are you?”
“Vincent Moretti.”
“I heard Marco say that.”
“And?”
“And apparently I’m supposed to know what it means.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Better that you don’t.”
“Very mysterious.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“You’re failing.”
That finally produced a small smile.
Grace hated that she noticed it.
“What do you know about Marco?”
Vincent’s expression became serious again.
“He owes money to people he shouldn’t owe.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you one of those people?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
His eyebrow rose.
Grace sighed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for asking sensible questions.”
She looked toward the kitchen.
“I need to work.”
Vincent placed a card on the table.
No company logo.
Just a name and number.
“Call if he appears again.”
Grace stared at it.
“I’m not calling a stranger every time my ex bothers me.”
“Then call the police.”
“I have.”
Vincent went quiet.
Grace instantly regretted saying it.
“You reported him?”
“Twice.”
“And?”
“Nothing they could act on. Marco knows exactly how far he can go without crossing the line where somebody takes me seriously.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“That is why he whispers.”
Grace looked at him.
“Yes.”
Vincent pushed the card closer.
“Keep it.”
“I don’t need rescuing.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I’m not offering rescue.”
“What are you offering?”
“A witness.”
That stopped her.
Vincent continued.
“Someone who heard exactly what he said tonight.”
Grace slowly picked up the card.
“Thank you.”
“Grace.”
She paused.
“How do you know my name?”
“You’re wearing a name tag.”
She looked down.
Vincent’s mouth twitched.
Grace laughed despite herself.
“Right.”
She walked away.
At midnight, Bellissimo closed.
Grace stepped outside.
Rain coated the street.
She had made it halfway toward the train when headlights flashed behind her.
A black sedan stopped.
Her stomach dropped.
Then the passenger window lowered.
Vincent.
“You’re following me now?”
“I’m leaving dinner.”
“For two hours?”
“I had a long dinner.”
Grace stared at him.
Vincent glanced toward the curb behind her.
“Is that your car?”
Grace followed his gaze.
Her old Honda sat beneath a streetlight.
The driver’s door was open.
Grace stopped breathing.
“I locked it.”
Vincent was out of his car instantly.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“It’s my car.”
They approached together.
Nothing appeared stolen.
But something rested on the driver’s seat.
A photograph.
Grace picked it up.
It showed her entering her apartment building.
Written across the bottom:
WE STILL NEED TO TALK.
Grace’s hand started shaking.
Vincent looked at the photograph.
“Still think tonight was nothing?”
She swallowed.
“No.”
Vincent pulled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“The police.”
Grace looked at him in surprise.
“Not your mysterious friends?”
His eyes met hers.
“You need a record, Grace. Not revenge.”
For the first time that night, she realized something important.
Vincent Moretti might be dangerous.
But Marco was afraid of him for reasons that had nothing to do with Vincent losing control.
May you like
Marco was afraid because Vincent never seemed to lose it.
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