Chapter 2 - The Man at Table Eight
Emma barely slept.
Every car outside her apartment sounded like police.
Every footstep in the hallway sounded like someone coming to ask questions she couldn’t answer.
By eight the next morning, she had convinced herself that Luca Moretti was gone.
By nine, she had convinced herself that the police probably hadn’t noticed anything.
By ten, she had convinced herself she had imagined half of it.
Then Rosie called.
“Turn on Channel Seven.”
Emma sat upright.
“What happened?”
“Just turn it on.”
The reporter stood outside a courthouse.
“Authorities clarified this morning that Luca Moretti has not been charged with any crime related to last night’s investigation. Police say they were attempting to locate him for questioning following a shooting involving two suspected members of rival criminal organizations.”
Emma frowned.
Rosie said, “So technically, you didn’t help a wanted fugitive.”
“I lied to the police.”
“Yes, but I’m trying to make you feel better.”
“It’s not working.”
“Worth a try.”
Emma rubbed her forehead.
“Did anyone come back to the diner?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Two men did.”
Emma went still.
“What?”
“They weren’t cops.”
“Rosie.”
“Relax. They ordered pancakes.”
“What did they look like?”
“Like the sort of men who don’t usually order pancakes.”
Emma stood.
“I’m coming in.”
“You’re off today.”
“Not anymore.”
Twenty minutes later, Emma entered through the diner’s back door.
Rosie pointed toward table eight.
Two men sat there.
Both wore dark coats.
One was bald and enormous.
The other looked about fifty, gray at the temples, perfectly calm.
Emma whispered, “Those are not pancake people.”
“Told you.”
The older man lifted his eyes.
“Miss Torres?”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
Rosie murmured, “They know your last name.”
“I noticed.”
Emma approached.
“Can I help you?”
The older man stood.
“My name is Salvatore Rizzo.”
“That means absolutely nothing to me.”
“It probably should remain that way.”
The bald man almost smiled.
Emma didn’t.
Salvatore continued.
“Mr. Moretti asked me to deliver something.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You don’t know what it is.”
“If it’s from Luca Moretti, I don’t want it.”
Salvatore placed an envelope on the table.
Emma stared at it.
“No.”
“Miss Torres—”
“Take it back.”
“He expected you to say that.”
“Then this should be easy.”
Salvatore considered her for a moment.
“He also told me to say exactly this: ‘You refused the money when you needed it. That’s why I owe you more than money.’”
Emma’s expression changed.
“How does he know I need money?”
Salvatore’s eyes flicked toward her apron hanging behind the counter.
Emma suddenly remembered.
The night before, when she leaned over Luca’s booth, the hospital envelope had nearly fallen from her pocket.
He must have seen it.
She pushed the new envelope toward Salvatore.
“No.”
“You haven’t opened it.”
“And I’m not going to.”
Rosie suddenly appeared beside her.
“I’ll open it.”
“Rosie.”
“What? We’ve come this far.”
Salvatore cleared his throat.
“It isn’t cash.”
Emma hesitated.
Rosie opened it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Emma read it.
Then again.
Her face hardened.
“What is this?”
“A phone number.”
“And an address.”
“Mr. Moretti wishes to speak with you.”
“Tell Mr. Moretti I already did enough speaking.”
Salvatore nodded.
“He said that too.”
Emma stared at him.
“Does he always predict conversations?”
“Usually.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Salvatore rose.
“Miss Torres, nobody is forcing you to go. But Mr. Moretti believes you deserve an explanation for what happened last night.”
“I deserve to forget what happened last night.”
“Perhaps.”
He placed a business card beside the envelope.
“But there’s another reason he wants to see you.”
Emma folded her arms.
“What?”
Salvatore looked directly at her.
“Someone saw you help him.”
Silence.
Even Rosie stopped moving.
Emma’s mouth went dry.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Salvatore said quietly, “that until we do, you may not be safe.”
Emma laughed once, without humor.
“This is unbelievable.”
“I agree.”
“You people brought danger into my diner.”
“Mr. Moretti knows that.”
“And now you want me to meet him?”
“Yes.”
“So he can apologize?”
“No.”
Salvatore’s expression hardened.
“So he can keep you alive.”
Emma looked at Rosie.
Rosie whispered, “Maybe hear him out.”
Emma turned back.
“Where?”
“Private dining room at Bellucci’s. Noon.”
“That sounds like a mafia movie.”
The bald man finally spoke.
“You’d be surprised how often people say that.”
Emma stared at him.
“I liked you better when you were silent.”
At noon, Emma entered Bellucci’s through a side entrance.
Luca stood alone beside a window.
No suit this time.
Black shirt. Sleeves rolled up.
He looked less like a man on television and more like the customer she had served coffee.
Almost.
“You came,” he said.
“Apparently I have terrible judgment.”
“I’m beginning to agree.”
Emma stopped several feet away.
“Your man said someone saw me.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“And why does that matter?”
“Because last night wasn’t random.”
Emma felt cold despite the warm room.
“What wasn’t?”
“The police looking for me.”
“They said there had been a shooting.”
“There was.”
“Were you involved?”
“I was supposed to be the one who got shot.”
Emma said nothing.
Luca stepped closer.
“Someone inside my organization gave my location to a rival crew. When I escaped, someone tipped the police that I was running armed.”
“Were you armed?”
“No.”
She watched his face.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to decide for yourself.”
“Then why were you running?”
“Because when men are trying to kill you, waiting around to explain things to the police is usually a poor strategy.”
Emma hated that the answer made sense.
“So what does this have to do with me?”
“The person who betrayed me knows someone in that diner helped me.”
Emma swallowed.
“And if they discover it was me?”
Luca’s voice became quiet.
“They may decide you know something.”
“I know nothing.”
“They don’t know that.”
Emma looked away.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“I have hospital bills, double shifts, overdue rent. I don’t have time for organized crime.”
Luca almost smiled.
“Most people don’t schedule for it.”
“Stop joking.”
His expression immediately became serious.
“You’re right.”
Emma stared at him.
“What happens now?”
“I find the person responsible.”
“And me?”
“You go back to your life.”
“Just like that?”
“With protection.”
“No.”
“Emma—”
“I am not having men in black coats following me everywhere.”
“They won’t be obvious.”
“That makes it worse.”
Luca took a breath.
“You saved my life.”
“I hid you behind a menu.”
“You prevented four officers from handing my location to whoever was tracking police channels.”
Emma fell silent.
He continued.
“If you hadn’t done that, I might not have made it through the night.”
Emma looked at him.
“So now you owe me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“I know.”
“Then leave me alone.”
Luca’s eyes held hers.
“I will.”
Emma turned toward the door.
Then Luca spoke.
“But first, check your hospital account.”
She stopped.
Slowly.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing illegal.”
“Luca.”
“Check it.”
Emma pulled out her phone.
Logged in.
Opened the billing page.
Her knees nearly weakened.
BALANCE: $0.00
She looked up.
“You paid it.”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“That was eighty-six thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
Emma’s voice rose.
“You cannot do that.”
“It appears I can.”
“I’m paying you back.”
“No.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Luca looked at her for a long moment.
“Because the night you met me, you had every reason to think about yourself.”
He nodded toward her phone.
“You needed money.”
“You were afraid.”
“You had nothing to gain.”
“And you helped me anyway.”
Emma’s anger weakened.
Luca continued.
“That kind of debt isn’t settled with two hundred dollars.”
She looked at the zero balance again.
For the first time in three years, the number that had controlled her life was gone.
Her eyes burned.
But she refused to cry.
“I still don’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
That answer surprised her.
Luca opened the door.
“Go back to work, Emma.”
She stepped into the hallway.
Then she turned.
“What happens when you find the person who betrayed you?”
Luca’s face went cold.
“That depends on what they do next.”
As Emma left the restaurant, she didn’t notice the black sedan across the street.
But the man behind the wheel noticed her.
And lifted his phone.
“She met with Moretti,” he said.
A voice answered.
May you like
“Then she knows too much.”
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