Chapter 2 - The Name Carmelo Never Expected to Hear
“Say his name again.”
Carmelo’s voice had changed.
Norah glanced toward Mateo.
“Vincenzo Russo.”
Carmelo stared at her.
“His father?”
“I never knew him.”
“His mother?”
“Don Carmelo, I don’t understand—”
“Where was Vincenzo born?”
Norah named the village.
Carmelo’s fingers tightened around his cane.
Mateo leaned forward.
“You knew him.”
Carmelo ignored his son.
“When did he come to America?”
“1968.”
“And he became a baker?”
Norah’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
Carmelo leaned back.
“Because I knew your grandfather before America knew either of us.”
Norah stared.
“He never mentioned you.”
Carmelo gave a humorless smile.
“That sounds like Vincenzo.”
Mateo looked between them.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Papa.”
“Nothing you need to know.”
Norah stood.
“Then I should return to work.”
Carmelo caught her wrist.
Not violently.
But firmly.
Mateo’s chair moved immediately.
“Papa.”
Carmelo released her.
“Forgive me.”
That shocked everyone more than his anger had.
Carmelo Valente had apologized to a waitress.
He looked at Norah.
“Did Vincenzo leave you anything?”
“A bread recipe.”
Carmelo almost smiled.
“What else?”
“A box.”
The smile vanished.
“What box?”
Norah hesitated.
“Old photographs. Letters. Some papers I never understood.”
Mateo became still.
“Where?”
Norah looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because my father suddenly looks like someone walked over his grave.”
Carmelo slammed his cane against the floor.
“Enough.”
Mateo didn't blink.
“You recognized her grandfather.”
“I said enough.”
“And now you're interested in papers.”
Carmelo stood.
“Conversation finished.”
Norah stepped backward.
“I really need to work.”
Carmelo pointed at her.
“You go home tonight with someone.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Mateo raised an eyebrow.
Carmelo stared.
Norah folded her hands against her apron.
“I take the subway.”
“Not tonight.”
“I’ve taken it every night for two years.”
“You spoke Vincenzo Russo’s name in this room.”
“I still don’t understand why that matters.”
Mateo answered.
“Neither do I.”
He looked at his father.
“But we're going to.”
Carmelo walked toward the exit.
His guards followed.
At the doorway, he stopped.
“Mateo.”
“Yes?”
“Protect the girl.”
Norah’s stomach tightened.
“I don't need protection.”
Carmelo looked over his shoulder.
“That is what people say before they understand they do.”
Then he left.
Conversation slowly returned to Lombra.
Paul rushed toward Norah.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“You made Carmelo Valente laugh!”
“He insulted the wine.”
“Arthur said he insulted you.”
“That too.”
Paul lowered his voice.
“Do you understand who those men are?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you talk back?”
Norah picked up the tray.
“Because I’m tired.”
She turned.
Mateo stood behind her.
Paul disappeared instantly.
Norah sighed.
“Does everyone run away when you walk into a room?”
“Usually.”
“That seems inconvenient.”
Mateo almost smiled.
“Where do you live?”
“No.”
“I haven't asked anything yet.”
“You were about to.”
“Your father’s box.”
“My grandfather's box.”
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
“Norah.”
It was the first time Mateo had used her name.
She noticed.
“So you do know my name.”
“I know everything written on your employment file.”
Her expression hardened.
“That isn't comforting.”
“You live in the Bronx. You work here six nights a week. You send part of every paycheck toward your younger brother’s community-college tuition.”
Norah stepped closer.
“Stop.”
Mateo did.
“You don't get to investigate me because your father recognizes my grandfather.”
“I didn't.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I asked Paul.”
Norah glanced toward the office.
“I'm going to kill Paul.”
“That might make this awkward.”
Despite herself, Norah nearly laughed.
Mateo's expression softened.
“Let me take you home.”
“No.”
“My father is frightened.”
“Your father doesn't look frightened of anything.”
“Exactly.”
That stopped her.
Mateo continued quietly.
“I have seen him angry. Violent. Proud. I've never seen him afraid of a dead baker's granddaughter.”
Norah looked toward the front doors.
“What do you think is in that box?”
“I don't know.”
“And if I show you?”
“I'll tell you the truth.”
“Your version?”
“The whole thing.”
Norah studied him.
“Fine.”
Mateo nodded.
“One condition.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Tonight.”
“No.”
“Norah—”
“I've been on my feet eleven hours.”
She picked up another tray.
“If your family mystery survived fifty years, Mr. Valente, it can survive until tomorrow.”
Mateo stared at her.
Then laughed quietly.
“Ten tomorrow morning?”
“Eleven.”
“Ten-thirty.”
Norah sighed.
“Fine.”
She walked away.
Mateo watched her cross the restaurant.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message from Carmelo.
DO NOT OPEN VINCENZO’S BOX.
Mateo stared at the screen.
A second message arrived.
IF SHE HAS WHAT I THINK SHE HAS, SOMEONE WILL TRY TO TAKE IT.
Mateo immediately looked toward Norah.
She was smiling politely while serving dessert.
Completely unaware.
Across the street, inside a parked sedan, a man lifted his phone.
“I found the Russo girl.”
A voice answered.
“Does she have the box?”
May you like
“Not yet.”
“Then follow her.”
