Chapter 4 - The Secret Beneath Booth Seven
“You hid evidence under my booth?”
Sam looked embarrassed.
“Technically beneath the floor.”
I stared at him.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Peter was already putting on his coat.
I blocked the door.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“You’re not going back there alone.”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s my workplace.”
“It’s currently a target.”
“My boss is going to fire me.”
Peter stared at me.
“Emma, someone photographed your child.”
“And I’m supposed to sit here while you walk into my diner and tear up the floor?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Peter looked toward Vincent.
Vincent immediately became fascinated with the ceiling.
“Fine,” Peter said.
“Fine what?”
“You come.”
“Really?”
“No.”
I glared at him.
He sighed.
“Stay beside me.”
We returned to Patsy’s before dawn.
The diner was empty.
Police tape would have attracted attention, so Peter’s men had quietly secured the block.
Sam had given us instructions.
Booth Seven.
Third tile from the wall.
Peter moved the table.
I knelt beside him.
“You know how to remove tile?”
“No.”
“I do.”
He looked surprised.
“My husband and I renovated our first apartment.”
Peter went quiet.
“Your husband?”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Three years.”
He nodded.
I didn’t want sympathy.
Thankfully, he didn’t offer more.
We lifted the tile.
Beneath it was a rusted metal box.
Peter pulled it free.
Inside were ledgers.
Photographs.
Bank records.
Names.
Peter flipped through them.
His expression became colder with every page.
“What?”
“This doesn’t just implicate Bellini.”
“Who else?”
“Judges. Police officers. Union officials.”
“From twenty-seven years ago?”
“And some still active.”
Vincent entered.
“We have company.”
Peter closed the box.
“How many?”
“Three vehicles.”
My heart pounded.
“Bellini?”
Peter handed the box to Vincent.
“Get it out.”
“What about you?”
“I’m staying.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
The front door opened.
A man entered alone.
Late forties.
Gray suit.
No coat despite the cold.
Anthony Bellini.
He smiled.
“Peter.”
Peter stepped between him and me.
“Anthony.”
Bellini looked around.
“Charming place.”
“Leave.”
“I came for your father.”
“He isn’t here.”
“I know.”
Bellini looked at me.
“The waitress.”
Peter moved slightly.
Enough to block Bellini’s view.
Bellini smiled.
“Protective.”
“Careful.”
“Oh, relax. I’m here to talk.”
“Then talk.”
Bellini rested both hands on the counter.
“Your father stole something from mine.”
“Your father threatened a sixteen-year-old kid.”
“Ancient history.”
“Not to me.”
Bellini’s smile faded.
“Give me the ledger.”
“No.”
“Then people get hurt.”
I stepped around Peter.
“Like my son?”
Bellini looked directly at me.
Peter said sharply, “Emma.”
I ignored him.
“You photographed a five-year-old?”
Bellini shrugged.
“Motivation.”
“You’re pathetic.”
The diner went silent.
Peter slowly turned his head toward me.
Bellini stared.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Peter murmured, “Emma.”
“No. Men like him count on everybody being scared.”
Bellini smiled coldly.
“You should be.”
“I’ve been scared.”
I stepped closer.
“I was scared when my husband died. I was scared when my son couldn’t breathe and I had forty dollars in my bank account. I was scared every time my landlord called.”
I pointed toward him.
“You don’t get to use my kid to make yourself feel powerful.”
Bellini’s expression hardened.
Peter stepped between us again.
“That’s enough.”
Bellini laughed.
“You like her.”
Peter didn’t answer.
Bellini’s smile widened.
“That’s dangerous.”
Peter’s voice became ice.
“For you.”
Sirens suddenly sounded outside.
Bellini turned.
Peter smiled faintly.
Bellini’s eyes narrowed.
“You called police?”
“No.”
I raised my hand.
“I did.”
Peter looked at me.
“When?”
“While you two were measuring egos.”
Vincent almost laughed.
Bellini headed toward the door.
Peter called after him.
“Anthony.”
Bellini stopped.
“The ledger isn’t staying with me.”
Bellini turned.
Peter continued.
“It’s going to federal investigators.”
May you like
For the first time, Anthony Bellini looked afraid.
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