Chapter 2 - The Man Across the Restaurant TableAlessandro had seen men walk into his office shaking.
He had seen wealthy executives beg, politicians threaten, and enemies attempt to bluff their way through conversations they were terrified to have.
But he'd never seen anyone enter that room looking quite like Emily Carter.
She was still wearing her red dress.
Her black coat hung open.
Her face was pale.
And she was holding her phone as if it contained something poisonous.
"Emily?"
She stopped just inside the doorway.
Alessandro noticed that she hadn't called him Mr. Moretti with the easy familiarity she'd used earlier.
Something was wrong.
"Can I show you something?"
He walked around the desk.
"Of course."
She extended the phone.
He read Daniel's messages.
Once.
Twice.
Then his expression changed so completely that Emily instinctively stepped backward.
"Who sent you this?"
"Daniel."
"When?"
"About five minutes ago."
Alessandro examined the photograph of Renato and Catherine.
He recognized his father's gray overcoat.
The building behind them.
And the date printed at the bottom of the image.
September 17.
Eight years earlier.
He looked at Emily.
"Your mother's name was Catherine Carter?"
"Yes."
"Did she ever tell you she worked with my father?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Mr. Moretti, my mother died when I was nineteen. I knew where she worked. I knew she sometimes took extra accounting assignments. But she never mentioned your family."
Alessandro handed back the phone.
"Sit down."
Emily remained standing.
"I'd rather not."
He looked at her.
"All right."
That surprised her.
She had expected orders.
Instead, he gave her space.
"Do you recognize the office building in that photograph?"
"No."
"I do."
"What is it?"
"It was the headquarters of a charitable restitution fund my father established after a construction disaster in Queens."
Emily frowned.
"What kind of disaster?"
"An apartment renovation. A contractor ignored safety warnings. Several families lost their homes. Two people died."
Her expression softened.
"My mother sometimes helped community organizations review their finances."
"Then that's probably how she became involved."
"Why wouldn't she tell me?"
"I don't know."
Emily looked at the messages again.
"Daniel says she died because of that folder."
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
"Daniel Reeves worked for a man who betrayed my family. That makes him a very poor source of truth."
"Does it make him wrong?"
Alessandro didn't answer immediately.
He respected the question too much to dismiss it.
"No," he admitted. "It doesn't."
He pressed a button on his desk.
"Marco. Come upstairs."
Emily shook her head.
"I'm not asking you to send someone after him."
"I know."
"Then why are you calling security?"
"Because the man who asked you out is trying to make you steal confidential documents from my office. And because someone paid him five thousand dollars from an account belonging to this house."
Emily went still.
"What?"
Alessandro realized he'd said more than he intended.
He met her eyes.
"Marco discovered the payment this afternoon."
"You knew?"
"Not until you were leaving."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I had evidence of a connection, not his intentions. I asked Marco to investigate while you decided whether to go."
Emily looked wounded.
"You could have warned me."
"You're right."
The apology came without hesitation.
"I should have told you what I knew."
She had prepared herself for an argument.
The simple admission left her momentarily speechless.
Alessandro continued.
"I don't know whether Daniel is working for Victor Salvatore, for someone inside this household, or for himself. I won't pretend I do."
"Then I want to meet him."
"No."
The word escaped before Alessandro could stop it.
Emily raised her chin.
"Excuse me?"
He closed his eyes briefly.
Then he corrected himself.
"I don't think it's safe."
"That's different from telling me I can't."
"Yes."
He took a breath.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
Emily looked at her mother's photograph.
"I spent seven years believing I knew how she died. If someone is lying about that, I need answers."
"And if Reeves is trying to trap you?"
"Then I'd rather know now than spend the rest of my life wondering."
Marco entered.
Alessandro showed him the messages.
The security chief's expression hardened when he reached the photograph.
"Catherine Carter," he murmured.
Emily turned.
"You know her?"
"I've seen the name in old foundation records."
Her heart thudded.
"Then Daniel isn't making everything up."
"Not necessarily," Marco said carefully. "But we need to establish what the records actually show."
They talked for twenty minutes.
By the end, they had reached an agreement.
Emily would go to the restaurant.
She would tell Daniel that she had not taken anything.
She would ask him directly about her mother.
Marco would arrange security nearby, but he would not listen to her conversation unless she chose to share it or called for help.
Alessandro disliked every part of the plan.
But Emily had made one thing clear.
She would not exchange one controlling man for another, even if the second man happened to own the building where she slept and worked.
Before she left, Alessandro gave her a serious look.
"If you feel uncomfortable, walk out. You don't need an explanation."
Emily nodded.
"And if he tells me something important?"
"Remember it. Don't promise anything. Come back and we'll decide what can be verified."
"We?"
Alessandro paused.
"You have every right to investigate your mother's life. I have a responsibility to investigate whoever used my estate's accounts."
She studied him.
For the first time that evening, she saw something other than the powerful Mafia boss.
She saw a man trying very hard not to make decisions for her.
"Thank you," she said.
His expression softened.
"Be careful, Emily."
At seven-fifteen, Emily entered Bellini's.
Daniel Reeves stood when he saw her.
He was handsome in an ordinary, carefully polished way.
Dark blond hair.
Blue eyes.
An expensive watch that suddenly looked less impressive than it had at the bookstore.
He smiled.
"Emily. You look beautiful."
She didn't return the compliment.
"Why did you send me those messages?"
Daniel glanced toward the surrounding tables.
"Can we sit down?"
"I am sitting down."
"Please don't make a scene."
Emily's expression hardened.
"Then don't give me a reason."
His smile disappeared.
He sat across from her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Emily placed her phone on the table.
"Start with my mother."
Daniel rubbed his hands together.
"I didn't know who you were when we first met."
She stared at him.
"Try again."
"Emily—"
"You knew my name. You knew where I worked. You knew my mother was dead. And you asked me out because you wanted something from my employer."
Daniel looked away.
"Yes."
The admission hurt more than Emily expected.
For two weeks, she had allowed herself to feel excited about his messages.
He had asked about her favorite books.
Remembered that she hated mushrooms.
Sent a photograph of a stray cat he fed outside his office.
She had thought someone was finally interested in her.
Not in what she could provide.
Just her.
"Was any of it real?" she asked.
Daniel swallowed.
"I liked talking to you."
"That wasn't my question."
He lowered his gaze.
"No. The reason I approached you wasn't real."
Emily looked toward the window.
Outside, rainwater ran along the sidewalk.
For a moment she wanted to stand up and leave.
But then she remembered her mother's photograph.
"Tell me about Catherine Carter."
Daniel leaned forward.
"Your mother reviewed financial records for the Harbor Promise Fund."
"The restitution fund?"
He nodded.
"Renato Moretti established it after the Queens renovation disaster. Twelve million dollars was supposed to be distributed to affected families."
"Supposed to be?"
"Most of it disappeared before the families received anything."
Emily frowned.
"Mr. Moretti said Victor Salvatore stole twelve million dollars."
Daniel's eyes shifted toward the entrance.
"That's what everyone believes."
"And you know something different?"
"I know there are documents that tell a different story."
"Then show me."
"I don't have the originals."
"How convenient."
"Emily, listen to me. The folder in Alessandro's study contains an old authorization record. Whoever controls that record can prove which Moretti executive approved the missing transfers."
"Why would it be in his study?"
"Because Renato kept copies of important business records at home. He didn't trust the company's ordinary files."
"Then why doesn't Alessandro know what's in it?"
"Because not everything his father left behind was fully cataloged."
Emily watched him.
"Who paid you five thousand dollars?"
The color drained from Daniel's face.
"What?"
"Don't pretend you didn't hear me."
"Who told you about that?"
"So it's true."
Daniel said nothing.
"Someone inside the Moretti estate paid you to approach me."
He looked down at his hands.
"I was told you could help."
"By whom?"
"I can't tell you."
"Then we're finished."
Emily reached for her purse.
Daniel caught his breath.
"Wait."
She paused.
"My mother," he said quietly. "She worked with your mother once."
Emily sat back.
"Explain."
"Years ago, my mother was a secretary at Harbor Promise. Catherine Carter was the outside financial reviewer. My mother kept copies of some correspondence after the foundation closed its original office."
Emily searched his face.
"Where is she now?"
"She died two years ago."
"I'm sorry."
Daniel looked genuinely startled by her response.
Then he reached into his jacket.
He removed a folded photocopy.
Emily's breath caught.
It was a page from an old personnel directory.
There was her mother's name.
Catherine Carter.
Independent Financial Review.
Beneath it was a short note in handwriting Emily recognized immediately.
Request complete transaction history before any final approval. Do not accept summaries.
Her mother had written those words.
Emily knew the slant of the letters.
The firm way she crossed her t's.
The slightly crooked capital R.
Tears burned behind her eyes.
"Where did you get this?"
"From my mother's files."
"Can I keep it?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Only if you promise to help me."
Emily slowly set the paper down.
"No."
"Emily—"
"You don't get to use my mother as payment."
Daniel looked ashamed.
For a second, she wondered whether he might tell her everything.
Then his phone vibrated.
He glanced at it.
His entire body stiffened.
Emily noticed.
"Who is it?"
"Nobody."
"Daniel."
He turned the screen facedown.
"We need to leave."
"Why?"
"Because I was told not to let you walk away without the folder."
Emily's stomach tightened.
"Who told you?"
Daniel leaned closer.
His voice dropped.
"Someone who knows exactly what happened to Catherine Carter."
Emily remained completely still.
"And that person is?"
Before he could answer, a waiter approached with their drinks.
Daniel flinched.
The waiter set down the glasses.
When he left, Daniel's hand was shaking.
Emily stood.
"I'm going."
"Please."
She looked at him.
"Is someone threatening you?"
Daniel swallowed.
Then nodded once.
"They have evidence that I helped move some of the money. I was young and stupid, and I signed documents I shouldn't have signed."
"That doesn't excuse what you're doing to me."
"I know."
"Then stop."
He gave a humorless laugh.
"You don't understand these people."
Emily thought of Alessandro.
Of Marco.
Of the mansion.
Of the photograph showing her mother beside Renato Moretti.
"Maybe I understand more than you think."
Daniel slid the photocopy toward her.
"Take it."
She didn't move.
"I don't want anything that comes with conditions."
"No conditions."
She picked it up.
Then she turned toward the door.
Daniel spoke again.
"Emily."
She looked back.
"Your mother's accident report wasn't the first version."
The words struck her like a physical blow.
"What?"
"The police initially recorded that another car had forced her off the road. That detail disappeared before the final report was issued."
Emily's heart raced.
"How do you know?"
"My mother kept an email about it."
"Show me."
"I don't have it here."
"Then send it."
Daniel looked toward the window again.
"I'm trying."
Emily stared at him.
Then she walked out.
Marco was standing near a black sedan at the curb.
He didn't approach until she raised a hand.
"Miss Carter?"
"I need to go home."
"Of course."
She climbed into the car.
For the first few minutes, she stared through the window without speaking.
Then her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
Your sister Sophie is doing well at nursing school.
Emily's chest tightened.
Another message arrived.
It would be unfortunate if her scholarship disappeared before next semester.
Then a third.
Tell Alessandro Moretti to stop looking for answers.
Emily handed Marco the phone.
He read the messages.
His expression changed.
"Call Mr. Moretti," she whispered.
Marco was already reaching for his own phone.
At the mansion, Alessandro answered before the second ring.
"Marco."
"We have a problem."
"Is Emily safe?"
"She's with me."
"What happened?"
Marco glanced at Emily.
She nodded.
"Someone has threatened her sister."
There was a long silence.
Then Alessandro asked, in a voice so quiet it frightened even Marco, "Where is Sophie?"
"At her nursing program's student housing. We haven't contacted her yet."
"Ask Emily whether she wants us to alert Sophie and arrange a safe place to stay. No one approaches her without her agreement."
Emily heard him through the speaker.
For a moment, she couldn't understand why he was taking such care with his words.
Then she realized.
Even now, he was trying not to seize control of her life.
"Tell him yes," she said.
Marco repeated it.
Alessandro answered immediately.
"Bring Emily home."
Then he added something Marco had never heard from his employer before.
"Tell her I'm sorry."
Twenty minutes later, Emily returned to the estate.
Alessandro was waiting in the foyer.
He looked at her face, her trembling hands, and the old photocopy she clutched against her chest.
She had expected questions.
Instead, he asked one.
"Are you hurt?"
Emily shook her head.
"No."
He nodded.
"Then we'll deal with everything else."
Something inside her finally broke.
She began to cry.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just the exhausted, helpless tears of a woman who had spent years being strong because nobody else would carry the burden.
Alessandro moved forward, then stopped.
"May I?"
Emily understood.
She nodded.
He placed his arms around her.
Carefully.
As though he knew she was capable of standing on her own but needed someone to hold her for a moment.
She buried her face against his chest.
"I thought he liked me," she whispered.
Alessandro looked over her head.
His jaw tightened.
"He should have."
Emily pulled back slightly.
"What?"
"He should have liked you for who you are."
She looked up.
His expression had changed.
The anger was still there.
But it wasn't directed at her.
"And the man who made you believe your mother died for asking questions," Alessandro continued, "is going to have to answer some of his own."
Before Emily could respond, Marco's phone rang.
He listened briefly.
Then looked at Alessandro.
"We traced the administrative authorization used for Daniel's payment."
"Whose was it?"
Marco hesitated.
"It belonged to your father."
The foyer fell silent.
Alessandro's expression hardened.
"My father has been dead for six years."
"I know."
Marco turned his phone toward him.
"The account was reactivated forty-eight hours ago."
Emily felt the last of her tears disappear.
Because someone wasn't merely hiding a secret from the past.
May you like
Someone was using a dead man's authority to manipulate the living.
And that person had access to the Moretti mansion.
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