Chapter 3 - The Man Waiting Outside My Apartment
Vincent moved me to a townhouse in Brooklyn.
Calling it a townhouse was ridiculous.
It had security cameras, reinforced doors and men stationed outside.
I dropped my backpack onto a couch.
“Am I a guest or prisoner?”
“Guest.”
“Can I leave?”
“No.”
“Prisoner.”
Vincent loosened his tie.
“Alive prisoner.”
I glared at him.
“That's not helping.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Carlo.”
A pause.
His expression hardened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Keep watching him.”
He hung up.
“Moretti?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Your ex-boyfriend.”
I froze.
“Ryan?”
“He arrived in New York this afternoon.”
“How do you know?”
“I had someone check.”
“You investigated him too?”
“Yes.”
“You investigate everyone?”
“Yes.”
“At least you're consistent.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Then he slid a photograph across the table.
Ryan leaving Penn Station.
My stomach tightened.
“He shouldn't know where I am.”
“He knows you work at Bellissimo.”
“How?”
“Someone told him.”
“Who?”
“We're finding out.”
I stared at Vincent.
“Why are you doing this?”
He leaned against the table.
“Because your grandfather saved my father's life.”
“That happened before I was born.”
“Debts don't expire in my world.”
“I don't want to be part of your world.”
“Good.”
That answer surprised me.
Vincent continued.
“Stay that way.”
My phone rang.
Ryan.
I stared at it.
Vincent said, “Don't answer.”
I picked up.
“Sophia.”
Ryan sounded relieved.
“Where are you?”
“Go back to Boston.”
“I came to apologize.”
“I don't want your apology.”
“You disappeared.”
“I left.”
“Same thing.”
“No, Ryan. It isn't.”
His voice hardened.
“Who are you with?”
I looked at Vincent.
“That's none of your business.”
“You're with another man.”
Vincent held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
“Ryan,” Vincent said calmly.
Silence.
Then Ryan demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
“The man telling you to go home.”
“You think you can—”
“Listen carefully. Sophia told you to leave her alone. You will respect that.”
Vincent ended the call.
I stared at him.
“I could have handled it.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because sometimes men like Ryan hear another man's voice when they refuse to hear a woman's.”
I hated how accurate that was.
Before I could answer, Carlo entered carrying a cardboard box.
“We found it.”
My heart jumped.
“What?”
“Your belongings from Boston. The storage company still had them.”
He placed the box down.
I opened it.
Photographs.
Books.
My mother's old scarf.
Then I saw it.
A wooden recipe box.
My grandmother had given it to me when I turned eighteen.
I lifted it.
Vincent came closer.
“Something?”
“She said the evidence was inside something I already owned.”
I opened the box.
Recipe cards.
Nothing else.
Vincent examined it.
“May I?”
I handed it over.
He turned it upside down.
Then pressed along the base.
Click.
A false panel opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key and an old photograph.
I picked up the picture.
My mother stood beside Rosa.
And beside them stood a younger man.
Vincent inhaled sharply.
“My father.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“That is Antonio Romano.”
On the back, my mother's handwriting read:
Antonio knows the truth. Trust his son if I cannot return.
Vincent stared at the words.
“My father never told me.”
“Maybe he couldn't.”
Carlo picked up the key.
“Bank deposit box?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Too small.”
I noticed numbers engraved along the side.
“It's a locker key.”
Carlo frowned.
“Where?”
I turned the photograph toward the light.
A faded stamp appeared in one corner.
Palermo Centrale.
Vincent looked at me.
“Whatever your mother hid, it's in Sicily.”
My phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A nurse from Villa Serena spoke.
My knees weakened.
“Your grandmother's condition has worsened.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Can I speak to her?”
A pause.
Then Rosa's faint voice came through.
“Sophia?”
“I'm here.”
“You found the box.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
“Nonna, what's in Palermo?”
“The truth.”
“About Mom?”
“Yes.”
“About Vincent's father?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Vincent moved closer.
I put the call on speaker.
Rosa continued.
“Antonio Romano tried to save Elena. Someone betrayed them.”
“Who?”
“I never knew.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Mrs. Bellacosta, who knew about the locker?”
“Antonio. Elena. Me.”
“And Salvatore?”
“No.”
“What is inside?”
“Records. Names. Payments.”
Carlo swore quietly.
Rosa whispered, “Enough to destroy the man responsible for Elena's death.”
I closed my eyes.
“Nonna, I'm coming.”
“No.”
“I've spent my entire life living inside secrets other people chose for me.”
“Sophia—”
“No more.”
Vincent watched me.
“I am coming home.”
Rosa was silent.
Then she whispered:
“You sound exactly like your mother.”
The call ended.
I looked at Vincent.
“When do we leave?”
“Tonight.”
Carlo interrupted.
“Boss, there's a problem.”
“What?”
Carlo held up his phone.
Security footage showed a man standing across the street.
Marco Ricci.
My manager.
He wasn't alone.
Beside him stood Ryan.
And behind them was the man who had broken into my apartment.
Vincent stared at the screen.
Then at me.
“Someone at Bellissimo didn't just recognize you.”
My voice went cold.
May you like
“They sold me.”
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