Chapter 2 - Dinner With the Devil Everyone Warned Her About
Evelyn did not sleep.
The Moretti Hotel gave her a suite on the thirty-fourth floor with cream walls, floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of Manhattan so beautiful it felt offensive.
She spent most of the night sitting on the edge of the bed wearing one of the hotel’s white robes, staring at three photographs on her phone.
The first showed her beside Lucien.
The second showed her apartment.
The third had arrived at 2:13 in the morning.
It showed a storage facility in Queens.
Vale Storage Unit 418.
Her father’s things.
Evelyn had not visited the unit in almost a year.
Below the photograph were four words.
HE LEFT IT THERE.
She called Adrian twice.
He did not answer.
She nearly called Lucien.
She stopped herself.
At six thirty, a knock sounded on the suite door.
Evelyn froze.
“Room service,” a woman called.
Evelyn had ordered nothing.
She walked quietly to the door and looked through the peephole.
A silver-haired woman in an immaculate navy suit stood outside holding a paper coffee cup.
Behind her stood one of Lucien’s security guards looking deeply uncomfortable.
Evelyn opened the door three inches.
“Can I help you?”
The woman lifted the coffee.
“Probably. You look terrible.”
Evelyn blinked.
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. May I come in?”
“Who are you?”
“Teresa Moretti.”
Evelyn opened the door another inch.
Lucien’s grandmother.
Even people outside the Moretti world knew the name.
Teresa had founded two charitable foundations, sat on hospital boards, funded scholarships and once publicly humiliated a state senator during a televised fundraiser by asking him why his education platform contained no money for teachers.
Rumor claimed she had also slapped a crime boss at her husband’s funeral in 1987.
Evelyn suspected the rumor was true.
Teresa looked at the narrow opening.
“Either invite me in or close the door. At my age, hallways are boring.”
Evelyn stepped aside.
Teresa entered.
The security guard remained outside.
She placed the coffee on the table.
“Lucien said you drink oat milk.”
Evelyn stared at her.
“That is becoming a recurring problem with your family.”
“What?”
“Knowing things about me.”
Teresa smiled.
“Lucien owns hotels. Hotels remember coffee orders. It is less romantic than you think.”
“I wasn’t thinking romantic.”
“Good. He needs the challenge.”
Evelyn almost choked.
Teresa sat down.
“He told me about the photograph.”
“Which one?”
The older woman’s expression changed.
“There is more than one?”
Evelyn showed her the storage facility picture.
Teresa read it carefully.
“That unit cannot be visited today.”
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
“No. I imagine you weren’t.”
Teresa folded her hands.
“You remind me of Lucien’s mother.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“The highest one I give.”
Evelyn sat across from her.
“Did you know my father?”
“Yes.”
Again.
Another person.
Another secret.
Evelyn exhaled slowly.
“Was there anyone in Manhattan who didn’t know Daniel Vale?”
“Most people did not know him. They knew a version of him.”
“And which version did you know?”
“The stubborn one.”
Teresa smiled faintly.
“Your father was hired by Moretti Holdings nine years ago to review irregularities in one of our construction subsidiaries. Lucien’s father, Lorenzo, requested him personally.”
“Why?”
“Because Lorenzo suspected someone inside the company was stealing.”
“Did my father find it?”
“He found something worse.”
“What?”
Teresa’s smile disappeared.
“Contracts were being inflated. Companies that existed only on paper were being paid millions. Shipping containers were being redirected. Property acquisitions were being used to clean money that did not belong to the legitimate side of our family.”
Evelyn felt cold.
“Criminal money.”
“Yes.”
“Your family’s?”
“Some of it.”
The honesty unsettled her.
Teresa continued.
“My husband built an empire in a time when men like him often built empires with both clean and dirty hands. Lorenzo wanted something different for his children. Lucien wanted it even more.”
“And someone didn’t.”
“Correct.”
“Who?”
Teresa looked toward the windows.
“My younger son. Vittorio.”
Lucien’s uncle.
Evelyn knew the name vaguely.
A Moretti who rarely appeared in newspapers.
“What does Adrian’s family have to do with it?”
“Warren Cross became Vittorio’s favorite business partner.”
Adrian’s father.
Evelyn leaned back.
“Did they kill my father?”
Teresa’s eyes held hers.
“I don’t know.”
It was the first answer that felt completely honest.
“Lorenzo believed Daniel’s death was suspicious. Three months later, Lorenzo died in a boating accident.”
Evelyn stared.
“Another accident.”
“Yes.”
“And Lucien?”
“He was twenty-seven.”
“How old is he now?”
“Thirty-six.”
Nine years.
The same time.
Teresa’s voice softened.
“My grandson inherited a company, a family war and two funerals. He spent the next nine years cutting criminals out of Moretti businesses one at a time.”
“Is he a criminal?”
Teresa did not answer immediately.
“He has done things I wish he had not needed to do.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
“Then answer.”
Teresa looked almost pleased.
“Yes,” she said. “Lucien has broken laws.”
Evelyn absorbed it.
“He has also spent a decade converting an organization built in darkness into companies that can survive daylight.”
“And the people who don’t want that?”
“Fear him.”
“Because he’s good?”
Teresa’s expression turned sad.
“Because he learned their language before he decided not to speak it.”
At seven thirty that evening, Evelyn entered a private dining room in one of Lucien’s restaurants.
She had almost canceled three times.
Lucien stood when she entered.
No tie.
Black suit.
White shirt.
No entourage visible.
Evelyn stopped beside the table.
“Your grandmother ambushed me with coffee.”
“She does that.”
“She told me you’ve broken laws.”
He pulled out her chair.
“My grandmother has a loose definition of private conversation.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“No.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn sat.
Lucien took the seat across from her.
“What kind?”
“Several.”
“Specific.”
“You are interviewing me?”
“I’m deciding whether kissing you was the stupidest decision I’ve made this year.”
“Your engagement suggests competition.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That was almost funny.”
“It was meant to be.”
A server brought food.
Evelyn waited until they were alone.
“Did you kill anyone?”
Lucien’s face did not change.
“No.”
“Have you ordered anyone killed?”
“No.”
“Have people been hurt because of you?”
“Yes.”
That answer arrived too quickly.
Evelyn looked down.
Lucien continued.
“When I took control of my family’s companies, several men believed intimidation would convince me to leave old operations untouched. I responded in ways I would not use now.”
“Violence.”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Some of it.”
“Only some?”
“I regret every unnecessary act. I do not regret surviving.”
She studied him.
He did not sound proud.
That mattered.
Perhaps more than it should have.
“Why were you watching me before I kissed you?”
Lucien’s gaze sharpened.
“I wasn’t.”
“Your people knew my car.”
“We investigated you after your company received a contract for last night.”
“Why?”
“Because the charity used a Cross Development subsidiary for sponsorship.”
“And?”
“That subsidiary appears in financial records connected to Vittorio.”
Evelyn’s stomach tightened.
“So my company was investigated because Adrian’s father sponsored an event?”
“Yes.”
“And you found nothing.”
“Nothing concerning.”
“Except my coffee order.”
His mouth moved.
“There was that.”
Evelyn almost smiled.
Almost.
She placed her fork down.
“The storage unit.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“My grandmother told me.”
“I’m going tonight.”
“No.”
“You agreed yesterday not to order me around.”
“I’m not ordering.”
“That sounded exactly like ordering.”
“I’m informing you that whoever sent that photograph expects you to go there.”
“Then I’ll surprise them by bringing you.”
Lucien paused.
For the first time all evening, she had genuinely surprised him.
“You want me with you?”
“I want the man everyone is afraid of standing beside me while I open a storage unit someone might be waiting inside.”
Lucien leaned back.
“That is remarkably practical.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’ll survive.”
They went at ten fifteen.
Lucien brought two men.
Nico Santoro, his head of security, was broad-shouldered, humorless and looked at Evelyn as though she were an unexpected variable in an equation he disliked.
The second man remained outside.
Unit 418 smelled of dust and cardboard.
Evelyn turned on the overhead light.
Her childhood waited inside boxes.
Christmas decorations.
Her father’s old desk chair.
Her mother’s dishes.
A tennis racket Daniel had purchased and used exactly twice.
Evelyn stood in the doorway.
For nine years she had told herself grief faded.
It did not.
It changed shape.
Lucien stayed behind her.
He did not tell her to hurry.
That simple patience touched her more than comfort would have.
She found the file boxes along the back wall.
Tax returns.
Invoices.
Old photographs.
Nothing dramatic.
After forty minutes, Nico spoke.
“Boss.”
He was crouched beside a metal filing cabinet.
The lock had been cut.
Recently.
Lucien’s expression hardened.
Evelyn approached.
Inside were empty folders.
Every label was still attached.
MORETTI CONSTRUCTION.
CROSS DEVELOPMENT.
HARBOR REDEVELOPMENT.
PORT SERVICES.
But the documents were gone.
“Someone got here first,” Evelyn whispered.
“No,” Lucien said.
She looked at him.
“What?”
He pointed toward the dust.
“The cabinet was opened recently. But look at the floor.”
A clean rectangular outline showed where a box had once been.
“Someone removed something larger.”
“When?”
“Hard to tell.”
Evelyn searched the cabinet.
At the bottom, her fingers touched something taped beneath a drawer.
She pulled.
An old envelope came free.
Her name was written across the front.
EVELYN.
Her knees nearly failed.
“That’s his handwriting.”
Lucien stepped closer.
“Your father?”
She nodded.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Evelyn,
If you are reading this, then either I worried for nothing, or I waited too long to tell you the truth.
There are people around us who believe money gives them the right to decide what happens to other people.
I helped one man try to stop them.
If anything happens to me, do not trust appearances.
Do not trust Cross.
And do not assume every Moretti is your enemy.
The safest evidence is not stored where men who think like accountants would look.
Remember where you used to hide your birthday presents from me.
I love you more than every mistake I ever made.
Dad.
Evelyn read it twice.
Then a third time.
“Where did you hide birthday presents?” Lucien asked gently.
Her memories rushed backward.
Age ten.
Age eleven.
Daniel pretending not to know she had discovered gifts.
The little cottage in Connecticut that belonged to her grandmother.
A window seat in Evelyn’s childhood bedroom.
Behind a loose panel.
Her eyes widened.
“I know.”
A sound came from outside.
Metal scraping.
Nico’s weapon appeared in his hand.
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the unit.
“Evelyn,” Lucien said.
“I’m here.”
A crash sounded near the entrance.
Then footsteps.
Nico moved.
Lucien caught Evelyn’s arm and pulled her behind the filing cabinet.
A flashlight beam swept through the darkness.
Someone entered.
Lucien positioned himself between Evelyn and the aisle.
She felt his body tense.
A man’s voice called through the darkness.
“Give us the letter.”
Evelyn’s heart stopped.
Lucien’s voice was calm.
“No.”
A gunshot shattered the overhead light.
Evelyn flinched.
Lucien pushed her lower.
Nico shouted.
Another crash.
Footsteps retreated.
Seconds later, a vehicle engine roared outside.
Then silence.
Nico returned.
“Two men. They’re gone.”
Lucien looked at Evelyn.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
His hand was still around her wrist.
He released it immediately.
Evelyn realized he was breathing harder than usual.
Not from fear for himself.
For her.
She stared at the letter.
“They knew it existed.”
“Yes.”
“They knew my father left me something.”
“Yes.”
“Then they know about Connecticut.”
“Maybe.”
Evelyn folded the letter carefully.
“We go tonight.”
Lucien shook his head.
“That would be exactly what they expect.”
“Then when?”
“At daylight.”
“I don’t want to wait.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“I hate waiting while other people decide what happens to me.”
Something in Lucien’s expression softened.
“Then we don’t wait.”
He took out his phone.
“Nico, change of plan.”
They drove north before midnight.
Halfway out of Manhattan, Evelyn’s phone rang.
Adrian.
She answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice sounded panicked.
“Why?”
“Evelyn, listen carefully. My father knows about the Connecticut house.”
Her blood ran cold.
Lucien looked at her.
Adrian continued.
“And he isn’t the one you should be most afraid of.”
“Who is?”
There was a pause.
Then Adrian whispered the name.
“Vittorio Moretti.”
The call disconnected.
Lucien had heard.
For the first time since Evelyn met him, genuine rage entered his face.
She stared at the road ahead.
The highway disappeared into darkness.
Somewhere north of the city sat the house where she had spent every summer as a child.
And somewhere inside that house, if her father had told the truth, was evidence powerful enough to frighten two wealthy families for nine years.
Lucien looked at her.
“We’re turning around.”
“No.”
“Evelyn.”
“No.”
“My uncle may already be there.”
“Then he got there because everyone kept deciding I was safer without the truth.”
She met Lucien’s eyes.
“I’m done being protected from my own life.”
Silence filled the car.
Then Lucien nodded once.
“Okay.”
Not because he agreed.
Because he respected the decision.
Evelyn looked back at the road.
Forty minutes later, they reached Connecticut.
May you like
The cottage stood dark among the trees.
The front door was open.
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