Chapter 6 - The Price of a New Name
Three months later, Il Vento was packed.
Audrey carried a bottle of Barolo toward table 4.
Lorenzo looked up.
“You're kidding.”
“What?”
“You're still working here?”
“I like my job.”
“You inherited enough money to buy this restaurant.”
Audrey began pouring his wine.
“Then tip accordingly.”
Dante laughed.
Lorenzo shook his head.
Carlo Bellandi was awaiting trial.
The documents Elizabeth preserved had dismantled his network and exposed corrupt officials on both sides of the Atlantic.
The union leader's daughter had returned home safely.
Lorenzo had withdrawn the Falcone organization from the dock scheme and started separating the family's legitimate businesses from everything that had built their reputation.
It wasn't redemption.
Audrey refused to call it that.
It was a beginning.
Sylvio approached the table.
He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Audrey.”
She waited.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For which part?”
Dante covered a smile.
Sylvio sighed.
“All of it.”
“More specific.”
“The insults.”
“And?”
“The things I said because I thought you couldn't understand.”
“And?”
Sylvio looked desperately at Lorenzo.
Lorenzo lifted his wineglass.
“Don't involve me.”
Sylvio muttered something.
Audrey raised an eyebrow.
“In English.”
“I behaved like an asshole.”
“Accurate.”
“I'm sorry.”
Audrey nodded.
“Accepted.”
Sylvio exhaled.
Then Audrey added:
“Don't do it again.”
“I won't.”
“To anyone.”
Sylvio hesitated.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
He escaped toward the bar.
Lorenzo watched him go.
“You enjoy frightening him.”
“Immensely.”
Lorenzo smiled.
Their relationship remained strange.
He was still controlling.
Audrey still refused to be controlled.
He sent a driver.
She took the subway.
He offered her an apartment.
She renewed her lease.
He offered her a position in one of the family's legitimate companies.
She laughed for almost thirty seconds.
But every Thursday, Lorenzo came to Il Vento.
Table 4.
Same chair.
Same Barolo.
Sometimes Salvatore joined him.
Audrey had not called Salvatore “Dad.”
Not yet.
He never asked.
That mattered.
Tonight, however, Lorenzo carried an envelope.
He placed it beside her.
“What's this?”
“Open it.”
Inside were ownership documents.
Audrey stared.
“Lorenzo.”
“You said you liked the restaurant.”
“You bought Il Vento?”
“No.”
She looked at the paperwork.
He smiled.
“You did.”
Audrey stared at him.
“What?”
“Bellandi's legitimate assets were released to you last week.”
“I know.”
“Your attorney used part of them to make an offer.”
“My attorney?”
Lorenzo pointed toward the bar.
Alessandro raised his glass.
Audrey stared at both men.
“You planned this?”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “You planned it.”
Audrey remembered signing a stack of investment documents her attorney had prepared.
“You sneaky—”
“Sicilian?”
“Something considerably less polite.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Congratulations, owner.”
The employees began applauding.
Audrey covered her mouth.
For three years, Il Vento had been where she hid.
Now it belonged to her.
But Lorenzo wasn't finished.
“One condition.”
Audrey's eyes narrowed.
“There are no conditions.”
“One request, then.”
“What?”
He gestured toward his table.
“Please stop charging me three hundred dollars for this wine.”
Audrey smiled.
May you like
“No.”
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