Chapter 2 - The Name Alessandro Buried
Alessandro cleared Vetro Nero in less than five minutes.
Not asked.
Cleared.
Guests collected coats while whispering furiously.
I remained beside the piano.
Joseph stayed, too.
Alessandro noticed him.
"Leave us."
Joseph closed the piano.
"No."
Alessandro turned.
"No?"
The old pianist looked at me.
"If this concerns Matteo Russo, I'm staying."
That surprised both of us.
Alessandro's expression hardened.
"You knew him?"
Joseph gave a humorless laugh.
"Better question, Moretti. How did you?"
Alessandro looked between us.
Then at me.
"Sit down."
"I'm comfortable standing."
"Camila."
"I'm still your waitress, not your employee for the next ten years. I finished the aria."
A strange expression crossed his face.
"You didn't finish it."
"You interrupted me."
Joseph coughed to hide a laugh.
Alessandro stared at him.
Joseph suddenly found the piano extremely interesting.
I folded my arms.
"And technically, you proposed."
"I made a wager."
"In front of two hundred witnesses."
"You want to marry me?"
"Absolutely not."
"Good."
"Wonderful."
"Excellent."
Joseph sighed.
"Now that the courtship is progressing beautifully, perhaps we could discuss Matteo."
Alessandro pulled out a chair.
This time, I sat.
He remained standing.
"When did you last see your father?"
"I was twelve."
"What happened?"
"He left."
"Just left?"
"My mother said he had gotten into trouble."
"What kind?"
"She never told me."
"Your mother?"
"Dead."
Something softened briefly in his face.
"When?"
"Six years ago."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't need sympathy."
"It wasn't sympathy."
I looked away.
Alessandro sat across from me.
"What did Matteo tell you about his work?"
"He imported musical instruments."
Joseph muttered, "Of course he did."
I turned.
"What?"
Alessandro answered.
"He didn't import instruments."
"What did he do?"
"He worked for my father."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"Doing what?"
"Things you don't need to know."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Drag me into a room because of my father and then decide I'm too delicate for the explanation."
His jaw tightened.
Joseph smiled faintly.
"She's definitely Matteo's daughter."
Alessandro ignored him.
"Your father was my father's closest adviser."
I stared at him.
"No."
"Yes."
"My father taught piano."
"Among other things."
"He hated violence."
"That's why my father trusted him."
That wasn't the answer I'd expected.
Alessandro continued.
"Eighteen years ago, someone inside my father's organization betrayed him. Information disappeared. Money vanished. Men changed sides."
"And you blamed my father?"
"We had evidence."
"What evidence?"
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
Alessandro leaned forward.
"My father ordered Matteo to meet him. Matteo disappeared before the meeting."
I felt anger rising.
"So you killed him."
"No."
"Your people did."
"No."
"Then why did you say he died?"
"Because three days later, his car was found near the East River."
My throat tightened.
"Was he inside?"
"No."
"Then you don't know he died."
"We found blood."
"His?"
Alessandro hesitated.
That hesitation told me everything.
"You never proved it."
"It was eighteen years ago."
"You never proved it."
"No."
Joseph walked closer.
"And the singing?"
Alessandro looked at me.
"Matteo had a method."
"For singing?"
"For breathing."
I almost laughed.
"You're telling me you recognized my father from a breathing exercise?"
"I spent three years learning it."
My anger disappeared.
"What?"
Alessandro's eyes shifted toward the dark windows.
"I was fourteen when my mother died. I stopped sleeping. Panic attacks."
This was not something I expected the King of New York to admit.
"Matteo taught me breath control."
The memory clearly cost him something.
"He said fear couldn't control your body if you learned to control your breath first."
My eyes burned.
My father had told me the same thing.
Word for word.
Alessandro noticed my reaction.
"He told you that."
"Every day."
Silence.
Then Joseph spoke.
"If Matteo betrayed your family, why would he spend years helping your son?"
Alessandro looked at him.
"My father asked the same question."
"And?"
"He started believing Matteo had been framed."
I leaned forward.
"By whom?"
Alessandro didn't answer.
The private dining room door opened.
A tall man entered quickly.
"Alessandro."
"What?"
"We have a problem."
The man glanced at me.
"Say it."
He lowered his voice.
"Someone heard the waitress give her name."
My skin went cold.
"So?"
The man's expression was grim.
"Three separate calls went out before the guests even left."
Alessandro stood.
"To whom?"
"We don't know yet."
I rose too.
"What does that mean?"
Alessandro picked up his coat.
"It means somebody else remembers Matteo Russo."
He looked directly at me.
May you like
"And they're afraid his daughter just came back."
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