Chapter 2 - The Man Who Came Back the Next Night
At exactly 11:00 p.m., Norah opened the steel door with a bowl of soup in one hand.
She almost dropped it.
Arthur was gone.
For a second, her stomach twisted.
“Where is he?”
A voice answered from the shadows.
“He’s home.”
Norah froze.
Vincent stepped beneath the weak alley light.
No guards.
No entourage.
Just him.
Dark coat.
Black gloves.
Rain shining along his shoulders.
Norah recognized him instantly.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“You followed me?”
“No.”
She looked at him skeptically.
“I came to find you.”
“That sounds worse.”
Something almost resembling amusement touched his mouth.
“You always talk like that?”
“Only when strange men appear outside my workplace at midnight.”
Vincent glanced at the bowl in her hand.
“You made this for my father.”
Norah glanced down.
“He likes soup.”
“He told my nurse it tasted better than hers.”
“Your nurse probably charges more per hour than I make in a week.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“You know who I am?”
“Should I?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t.”
He believed her.
Or, at least, he wanted to.
Vincent stepped closer.
“I owe you.”
“No.”
“You refused the money.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t pay people for being decent.”
“In my world, people expect payment.”
“Then your world sounds exhausting.”
For several seconds they simply stood there.
Vincent had forgotten what normal silence felt like.
Not the silence before gunfire.
Not the silence before betrayal.
This was different.
He looked toward the diner.
“How long have you been working here?”
“Seven years.”
“That long?”
“I needed the job.”
“Do you like it?”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“Honest.”
“I’m tired.”
“You should leave.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
Norah let out a small laugh.
“That sounds like advice from a man who has never counted the dollars left in his wallet.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“How much do you owe?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It became my business when my father told me you were the only person in the city who treated him like a man.”
Norah’s expression softened.
“He is a man.”
Vincent looked away.
That sentence hurt more than he expected.
“My father used to be different.”
“Everyone is.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Vincent stared at her.
Nobody asked him to explain.
They asked for mercy.
They asked for money.
They asked for protection.
Norah asked for truth.
He said nothing.
Instead, he took the bowl from her.
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“To my father.”
“No.”
“He asked for you.”
Norah hesitated.
“Why?”
“He remembers you.”
That changed everything.
Norah followed him to the sedan.
She expected a mansion.
She expected marble floors and armed guards.
She expected arrogance.
She did not expect Arthur Costa to be sitting in a wheelchair near a fireplace, wrapped in a blue blanket, waiting with tears in his eyes.
When he saw Norah, his face lit up.
“Mary!”
Norah smiled.
“It’s Norah.”
Arthur laughed.
“Norah.”
He repeated it carefully.
Then his hand reached for hers.
“I remember.”
Vincent stood behind them.
His father remembered very little.
But he remembered her.
Arthur pulled Norah closer.
“You feed him?”
Norah blinked.
“Who?”
“The boy.”
She looked at Vincent.
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Arthur tapped his son’s hand.
“He forgets to eat.”
Norah almost smiled.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Vincent sighed.
“Dad.”
Arthur looked offended.
“You’re too proud.”
Norah laughed.
A real laugh.
Vincent stared at her.
The sound seemed completely out of place in his world.
Arthur smiled.
“She makes you softer.”
Vincent went still.
Norah noticed.
“Your father’s tired. I should leave.”
Arthur caught her wrist.
“No.”
His fingers tightened unexpectedly.
“Stay.”
Norah looked at Vincent.
Vincent nodded.
She sat beside Arthur.
For the next hour, Arthur told stories that made almost no sense.
He talked about a bakery that no longer existed.
A red bicycle.
A girl named Elena.
A little boy hiding under a kitchen table.
Every now and then he would look at Vincent with startling clarity.
“You were afraid of thunder.”
“I know.”
“You cried.”
“I was five.”
“You cried.”
Norah laughed again.
Vincent gave her a look.
“Traitor.”
Arthur smiled.
For a brief moment, they were not mafia boss, diner waitress, and dying old man.
They were just three people sitting beside a fire.
Then Arthur whispered something that changed everything.
“Your mother kept the box.”
Vincent’s smile disappeared.
“What box?”
Arthur looked frightened.
“The blue one.”
Vincent crouched beside him.
“Dad. What blue box?”
Arthur looked toward Norah.
Then he whispered:
“The girl.”
Silence.
Norah felt it before she understood it.
Vincent stood.
“What girl?”
Arthur’s eyes wandered.
“The girl who knew.”
“Who?”
But Arthur had already drifted away again.
Vincent straightened.
He looked at Norah.
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Did you ever know a woman named Elena Gallagher?”
Norah went pale.
“My mother was named Elena.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Arthur smiled as though he had solved a puzzle no one else could see.
“I knew her.”
Norah stared at him.
“My mother has been dead since I was nine.”
Arthur looked directly at Vincent.
“So was mine.”
Neither of them moved.
A locked room suddenly seemed to have appeared in both their lives.
And both doors were marked with the same name.
Elena.
Vincent turned toward Hayes.
“Find everything.”
Norah stood.
“Everything about what?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Your mother.”
The next morning, Norah received a phone call from a number she did not recognize.
A woman spoke.
“Norah Gallagher?”
“Yes.”
“You need to stop asking questions about Elena.”
“Who is this?”
“You don’t know what your mother was involved in.”
“Tell me.”
The woman hung up.
Five minutes later, Norah received a photograph.
It showed Elena, young and smiling.
Standing beside Arthur Costa.
And behind them was a much younger Vincent.
Norah stared at the photograph until the world seemed to tilt.
May you like
Her mother had known the Costa family.
And suddenly the old man in the alley had never been just a stranger.
