Chapter 2 - The Name Buried for Thirty Years
Gabriel refused to let me leave the restaurant alone.
"I can take a cab," I said.
"No."
"Mr. Rossi—"
"Gabriel."
I looked at him.
He lowered his voice.
"Someone gave you a message connected to my family. Until I know why, you're not walking anywhere by yourself."
I should have been offended.
Instead, I was exhausted.
"My mother needs her medication by ten."
"I'll have a driver take you."
"I don't need a driver."
"I didn't say you did."
His tone wasn't controlling.
It was worried.
That frightened me more.
We stepped outside beneath the glowing sign of Ilvento.
A black SUV waited at the curb.
I stopped.
"No."
Gabriel sighed.
"Please."
That one word caught me.
He looked less like the feared heir to a crime family and more like a son desperately trying to prevent another disaster.
I got in.
The drive to Queens took forty minutes.
I lived in a tiny apartment above a laundromat with my mother, Grace.
She was asleep when I entered.
The medicine bottles beside her bed reminded me why I worked six days a week.
Gabriel waited by the door.
He noticed the medical paperwork on the kitchen counter.
"You weren't exaggerating about the bills."
"I don't exaggerate."
"I know."
He saw an overdue notice.
Then another.
Then another.
He looked away.
"I'll have someone help."
"No."
"Tessa—"
"No. Whatever your family did in the past, I don't want charity."
He studied me for a long moment.
"That's not what I meant."
"Good."
I expected him to become angry.
He didn't.
Instead, he nodded.
"Then I won't offer again."
He turned toward the door.
"Wait."
I held out the photograph.
"Do you know who these people are?"
He looked at it.
"My father. Cosenza. My uncle Marco."
I stared.
"Uncle?"
"Marco Rossi. My father's younger brother."
"Where is he now?"
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
"In Manhattan."
"Does he know me?"
"I don't know."
He looked at the bracelet.
"Where exactly did your mother get that?"
"She said my father gave it to her."
"Your father?"
"He died when I was seven."
Gabriel's expression softened.
"What happened?"
"A construction accident."
He didn't answer.
He simply stared at the bracelet.
Then he asked, "Was his name Daniel Marino?"
My heart stopped.
"Yes."
Gabriel took a step backward.
"My father knew him."
That night, after Gabriel left, I woke my mother.
She was pale and confused.
"Mom."
Her eyes opened slowly.
"What time is it?"
"I need to ask you something."
She tried to sit up.
I showed her the photograph.
Her face changed instantly.
She pushed the blanket away.
"Where did you get that?"
"Don Salvatore gave it to me."
She became silent.
"Mom?"
She touched the photograph with trembling fingers.
"You met him?"
"Tonight."
Her breathing quickened.
"What did he say?"
"That Cosenza left a message for you."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I knew this day would come."
"What happened?"
She looked at me for a long time.
Then she whispered:
"Your father didn't die in an accident."
I couldn't speak.
She closed her eyes.
"Daniel was helping Cosenza."
"Helping him with what?"
"Money."
"What kind of money?"
"Money Salvatore wanted to hide."
I stared at her.
"I don't understand."
She gripped my hand.
"Thirty years ago, Salvatore Rossi was not yet the man everyone feared. He had a business. A bakery. A small transport company. Your father kept the books."
"What changed?"
"Power."
Her voice cracked.
"People came to Salvatore asking for protection. Then protection became debt. Debt became favors. Favors became crimes."
"What did Dad do?"
"He wanted out."
My stomach twisted.
"He threatened to leave?"
"No. He tried to expose what was happening."
She pointed at the photograph.
"Cosenza helped him."
"And Marco?"
She looked toward the window.
"Marco was the one who knew everything."
The room went cold.
"Mom, are you telling me Uncle Marco ordered Dad's death?"
"No."
She looked afraid.
"I'm telling you I never found out who gave the order."
That distinction somehow felt worse.
I didn't sleep.
At 7:00 the next morning, Gabriel called.
"Your mother told you."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Silence.
"Come downstairs."
I went to the street.
Gabriel stood beside his SUV.
He handed me a coffee.
"Black?"
"How did you know?"
"You serve me coffee every Thursday."
I stared at him.
Then he said something that changed the meaning of everything.
"My father has been looking for Daniel Marino's missing ledger for thirty years."
I frowned.
"What ledger?"
"The books your father kept."
"Why?"
"Because they contain names."
"Whose names?"
"Politicians. Police officials. businessmen. People who helped the Rossi organization."
He looked at me.
"And someone is killing to keep that ledger hidden."
A car rolled slowly past us.
Gabriel's attention shifted instantly.
The vehicle continued.
He waited until it disappeared.
Then he spoke again.
"My father believes Cosenza hid the ledger."
"Did he?"
"I don't know."
"And why would he give me the photograph?"
"Because Cosenza trusted your family."
I shook my head.
"My mother knows nothing."
"Maybe she knows more than she remembers."
I hated that answer.
We returned upstairs.
My mother was sitting at the kitchen table holding an old wooden recipe box.
She placed it in front of me.
"I should have shown you this years ago."
Inside were handwritten recipes.
Tomato sauce.
Eggplant.
Bread.
Lemon chicken.
At the bottom was a folded sheet of paper.
I opened it.
There were numbers.
Dates.
Names.
And one sentence:
When the olive branch is returned to the daughter, the Rossi family will owe the truth.
Gabriel read it over my shoulder.
His face went pale.
"What?"
He pointed to the bottom corner.
There was a symbol.
Three olive leaves.
The same symbol on my bracelet.
"My family used that mark," he whispered.
"Why?"
"For agreements made before I was born."
I looked at him.
"And what does it mean?"
He hesitated.
"It means protection."
A knock sounded at the door.
All three of us froze.
Gabriel motioned for us to stay back.
He opened the door slightly.
An elderly woman stood there.
She looked at me.
Then she said:
"Tessa Marino?"
"Yes."
"I'm Sofia Rossi."
Gabriel closed his eyes.
His sister.
May you like
She stepped inside.
"I think my uncle Marco knows who you are."
