Chapter 2 - The Name Salvatore Never Forgot
“I don't think employees are supposed to sit with guests.”
Salvatore almost smiled.
“You're not sitting with guests.”
He tapped the chair.
“You're sitting with me.”
I looked at Dominic.
His expression remained unreadable.
“Five minutes,” he said.
Martin hovered behind me.
“Penelope, perhaps we should discuss—”
Dominic turned his head.
“Why was she in the kitchen?”
Martin swallowed.
“She was assigned there.”
“Why?”
“Staffing.”
I almost laughed.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
I glanced at Martin.
“He didn't think I was elegant enough for your family.”
Martin went pale.
“That's not what I said.”
“It was almost exactly what you said.”
Dominic looked at my uniform.
Then at Chloe and Madison.
Then back at Martin.
“My family came here to eat, Mr. Galloway. We didn't request models.”
Salvatore chuckled.
Martin forced a smile.
“Of course.”
Dominic pointed toward the dining-room entrance.
“Leave.”
“This is my restaurant floor.”
“And we're your only customers.”
Martin left.
Salvatore turned toward me.
“Tell me about Agatha.”
I explained Bensonhurst.
The small apartment.
The Sunday dinners.
The endless Sicilian expressions.
Salvatore listened without interrupting.
“When did you last see her?”
“Three years ago.”
His face tightened.
“She died?”
I nodded.
“Cancer.”
Salvatore lowered his eyes.
Dominic sat again.
“You knew her?” I asked.
Salvatore looked toward the window.
“She saved my life.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Long before Dominic was born.”
Dominic leaned back.
“You've never told me this.”
“There are many things I haven't told you.”
Salvatore looked at me.
“1978. Palermo. I was twenty-two and stupid.”
“Only then?” Dominic asked.
Salvatore gave his son a sharp look.
I tried not to smile.
Salvatore continued.
“I trusted someone I shouldn't have. Agatha heard men discussing a betrayal in a café. She warned me.”
That sounded exactly like Agatha.
“She never mentioned you.”
“She wouldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because helping somebody wasn't a story to her.”
I remembered something Agatha used to say.
Good deeds that require applause are usually business transactions.
I repeated it in Sicilian.
Salvatore laughed.
For the first time that night, the terrifying old man looked almost ordinary.
Dominic watched me carefully.
“You really are fluent.”
“Enough to know your father called the chef a donkey with expensive shoes.”
Chef Laurent, standing twenty feet away, suddenly looked concerned.
Salvatore burst out laughing.
Dominic's mouth twitched.
Then Salvatore's expression became serious.
“Did Agatha leave you anything?”
“A box.”
Dominic's amusement disappeared.
“What kind of box?”
“Letters. Photographs. A necklace. Some old papers.”
“Did you read them?”
“Most.”
“Anything with my father's name?”
“I don't remember.”
Salvatore and Dominic exchanged a glance.
I didn't like it.
“What?”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Agatha wasn't only your neighbor.”
“You just said she saved him.”
“My father is simplifying.”
Salvatore sighed.
“Agatha carried information for several Sicilian families during a dangerous period.”
I stared at him.
“Agatha?”
“The woman who knitted ugly Christmas sweaters?”
“The same woman.”
Dominic asked, “Where is the box?”
“My apartment.”
Martin suddenly reappeared.
“Penelope.”
His voice was sharp.
“Kitchen. Now.”
Dominic looked up.
Martin hesitated.
“She's my employee.”
Dominic stood.
“And she's speaking to my father.”
“This is becoming inappropriate.”
Salvatore's chair moved.
Everyone went silent.
But Dominic placed a hand gently on his father's shoulder.
“I'll handle it.”
He approached Martin.
No threat.
No raised voice.
That somehow made it worse.
“Mr. Galloway, how much are we paying tonight?”
Martin cleared his throat.
“Forty-two thousand, including the private reservation fee.”
Dominic nodded.
“And Miss Hayes solved a problem your management couldn't.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you should thank her.”
Martin looked at me.
“Thank you.”
Salvatore frowned.
“That sounded painful.”
I covered a laugh.
Dominic didn't.
A short laugh escaped him.
The room relaxed.
Then one of Dominic's men entered.
He whispered something into Dominic's ear.
Dominic's expression hardened.
“What happened?” Salvatore asked.
Dominic looked at me.
“Someone just broke into an apartment in Bensonhurst.”
My stomach dropped.
“Whose?”
Dominic held my gaze.
May you like
“Yours.”
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