Chapter 2 - The Tin My Grandmother Never Let Anyone Open
Matteo didn't leave that morning.
He stood beside my register while Sofia ate a slice of lemon cake like the previous ten minutes hadn't just detonated a bomb beneath my entire life.
I kept working because I didn't know what else to do.
“What exactly,” I asked, “is going on?”
Matteo looked toward the front window.
“Your grandmother. Margaret Hale. Did she ever live outside the state?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Chicago for a while.”
“Before that?”
“I'm not sure.”
He nodded.
“You should ask your mother.”
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
The room became quiet.
Matteo's eyes softened.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged.
“You didn't know.”
He looked toward the bread tin again.
“Did your grandmother ever mention the Vescari family?”
“No.”
“Ever mention Italy?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“She used to say our family survived because we learned when to keep our mouths shut.”
His expression tightened.
“Did she have enemies?”
“Everybody over seventy has enemies.”
Sofia snorted into her cake.
Matteo almost smiled.
I pointed at him.
“This isn't funny.”
“No.”
“You know something.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
He hesitated.
“That tin may be connected to a disappearance.”
“What disappearance?”
“My grandfather's sister.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Her name was Elena Vescari. She disappeared fifty years ago.”
I waited.
Matteo continued.
“She was twenty-three. She was supposed to marry the son of another family. The wedding was called off. Two days later, she vanished.”
“What does my grandmother have to do with her?”
“We don't know.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No,” he said. “It isn't.”
He reached for the tin.
I slapped his hand away.
“Don't.”
His eyes lifted.
“That belongs to my family.”
“Your family didn't give it to me.”
“Where did your grandmother get it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then let me see it.”
“No.”
Sofia watched us.
“You're both scary.”
“I'm not scary,” I said.
“You threw flour at Uncle Matteo.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
Matteo rubbed his forehead.
For a man feared by half the city, he looked remarkably defeated by a teenager and one stubborn baker.
Then the front door opened.
A man in a brown jacket entered.
He looked around.
“Emily Hale?”
My instincts tightened.
“Yes?”
He smiled.
“I have a delivery.”
“I didn't order anything.”
He reached inside his jacket.
Matteo moved faster than I could see.
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down behind the counter.
A gunshot cracked through the bakery window.
Glass exploded.
Sofia screamed.
Matteo shoved her to the floor and drew his weapon.
His bodyguards moved instantly.
The man in the brown jacket ran.
Two shots echoed outside.
Then silence.
My ears rang.
Matteo crouched beside me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
Sofia was crying.
Matteo gathered her against his chest.
His entire expression changed.
“I'm here,” he whispered.
She clung to him.
“I'm here.”
I stared at him.
That wasn't the face of a monster.
That was the face of a man terrified someone had almost taken the only person he couldn't replace.
When the police arrived, Matteo said almost nothing.
One of his men handled everything.
I stood near the broken window, staring at the sidewalk.
Then I noticed something on the floor.
A small silver coin.
Old.
Heavy.
One side had the Vescari crest.
The other had the three-circle symbol carved into my grandmother's shelf.
I looked at Matteo.
He saw it.
His face went cold.
“Where did you find that?”
“Here.”
He picked it up.
His thumb brushed the symbol.
“Where?”
“I said here.”
He looked toward the shattered window.
Then at me.
“They knew you had it.”
“I don't have anything.”
“You do.”
“No, I don't.”
He looked toward the bread tin.
I followed his gaze.
I suddenly remembered something.
When I was little, my grandmother had caught me trying to open it.
She had slapped my hand.
Not hard.
But enough to frighten me.
She'd said, “Never open that unless someone comes asking the right question.”
I'd always thought it was nonsense.
Now, standing amid broken glass while Matteo Vescari held a bulletproof expression around his niece, I remembered her exact words.
Someone.
Asking the right question.
I turned toward the tin.
Matteo noticed.
“What?”
“My grandmother said something.”
“What?”
“That I should never open it unless someone asked the right question.”
He stared at me.
“What question?”
“I don't know.”
Sofia wiped her eyes.
“Maybe it was something your grandmother used to say.”
I shook my head.
“No. She repeated it every year on my birthday.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“What else?”
I swallowed.
“She said, ‘When the wolves come looking, give them bread before you give them the truth.’”
Matteo went completely still.
His bodyguard looked at him.
Sofia whispered, “Uncle?”
Matteo didn't answer.
I moved toward the tin.
He caught my wrist.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“Because if this is what I think it is, opening that box changes everything.”
“I think everything changed when someone shot through my window.”
He released me.
I opened the lid.
Inside were recipe cards.
Photographs.
Old grocery receipts.
A rosary.
And a small envelope sealed in red wax.
My name was written on it.
Emily.
My hands began to shake.
“This was for me.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Open it.”
I looked at him.
“You said this changes everything.”
“It already has.”
I broke the wax.
Inside was a single photograph.
A young woman stood beside my grandmother.
The woman was smiling.
She wore a necklace with the Vescari crest.
And she looked remarkably like Sofia.
I turned the picture over.
There were six words written on the back.
Elena trusted the wrong brother.
My throat went dry.
Matteo took the photograph.
His eyes locked on the woman.
May you like
For the first time since I'd met him, Matteo Vescari looked genuinely afraid.
“That,” he whispered, “is my aunt.”
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