Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Who Paid Her Five Thousand Dollars for Telling the TruthDonovan Pierce did not understand what was happening until two men in gray suits appeared beside his booth.
He was halfway through a joke when one of them placed a hand on the back of his chair.
“Mr. Pierce.”
Donovan looked up.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man leaned closer.
“Mr. James wants a word.”
Donovan laughed.
“You mean the deaf guy?”
The restaurant stopped breathing.
Benny closed his eyes.
One of the bartenders slowly put down a glass.
Even the kitchen staff knew.
You did not insult Lorenzo James in the Cobalt Lounge.
Donovan stood.
“Relax. It was a joke.”
The guard pointed toward the hallway.
“Now.”
Donovan's confidence faltered.
He looked toward the private room.
The door was closed.
He remembered Nell entering it nearly ten minutes ago.
His grin disappeared.
“She told him?”
The guard said nothing.
Donovan followed.
Inside, Nell had stopped shaking.
She sat opposite Lorenzo and watched him write questions.
He wanted to know whether Donovan had ever threatened her directly.
She answered yes.
Whether he had touched her.
Yes.
Whether there were witnesses.
Yes.
Lorenzo looked deeply unhappy.
Not furious.
Unhappy.
That difference unsettled her.
When Donovan entered, Lorenzo did not look at him immediately.
He continued writing.
Then he turned the notebook toward Nell.
Leave.
Nell frowned.
“Excuse me?”
Lorenzo tapped the sentence.
Then added:
You have done enough.
She stood slowly.
Before reaching the door, she turned.
“Thank you.”
Lorenzo watched her mouth.
He couldn't hear the words.
She pointed toward him.
Then pressed a hand against her chest.
“Thank you.”
His gaze softened.
He nodded.
She walked out.
Donovan took her place.
For the next thirty-five minutes, he learned why Lorenzo James had become the most feared man in New England.
There was no shouting.
No violence.
No dramatic threats.
Lorenzo simply laid out evidence.
A photograph of Donovan giving money to a bartender.
A recording showing him discussing the interpreter.
A copy of the betting pool.
The names of everyone involved.
The date.
The time.
The amount.
Donovan's face went pale.
“How?”
Lorenzo tapped his ear.
Then the photographs.
He had not heard them.
He had watched them.
That was the thing people kept forgetting.
Lorenzo James had spent his entire adult life learning how much information people revealed when they thought he could not access it.
He understood lips.
He understood body language.
He understood written records.
He understood rooms.
And he remembered everything.
“You can't threaten me with this,” Donovan said.
Lorenzo wrote:
I don't need to threaten you.
Another line appeared.
You already threatened yourself.
Donovan swallowed.
By the time he left the private room, his five-thousand-dollar envelope was gone.
So was his access to the Cobalt Lounge.
So were three business relationships.
So was the protection of two men who had previously considered him useful.
Nell thought the evening was over.
She was wrong.
At two in the morning, Benny found her in the employee parking lot.
He was holding an envelope.
Nell stared.
“What is that?”
“Your money.”
She took it.
It was heavier than expected.
She opened it.
Ten thousand dollars.
Her eyes widened.
“This is not five.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Benny smiled weakly.
“Because James doubled it.”
Nell stared at the money.
“He didn't have to.”
“I know.”
Benny looked toward the street.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“He wants you back tomorrow.”
Nell laughed.
“No.”
“I told him you might say that.”
“And?”
“He said that's okay.”
Benny paused.
“He said he wasn't asking because he needs another waitress.”
Nell's smile vanished.
“What does he need?”
Benny looked at her.
“A witness.”
The next afternoon, Nell returned.
Not because of the money.
Because she could not stop thinking about the way Lorenzo had asked questions.
He had been careful.
Not with himself.
With her.
The private room looked different in daylight.
Lorenzo was standing beside the window when she entered.
He turned.
He signed.
“You came.”
Nell nodded.
“You requested me.”
He shook his head.
Then he wrote:
I asked.
He handed her a folder.
Inside were photographs of shipping containers.
Business records.
A property map.
Names.
Dates.
Bank transfers.
Nell frowned.
“I don't understand.”
Lorenzo pointed to one name.
Her name.
Harper.
Nell's blood turned cold.
“This is my father.”
Lorenzo nodded.
She looked at him.
“My father died eleven years ago.”
He turned the page.
A photograph showed her father standing beside a man Nell recognized from television.
Lorenzo's father.
Anthony James.
Nell sat down.
“Why is he here?”
Lorenzo wrote:
Your father worked for my family.
Another sentence.
He disappeared with twelve million dollars.
Nell felt sick.
“That can't be true.”
Lorenzo watched her carefully.
He wrote:
I don't believe he stole it.
She looked up.
“Why?”
He tapped the photograph.
Then wrote:
Because the records were manufactured.
Nell stared.
He continued.
Someone wanted your father blamed.
“Who?”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
He turned to another page.
A list of names.
One name was circled.
Victor Kane.
Nell knew him.
Everyone did.
Victor Kane was Lorenzo's uncle.
He had spent seven years rebuilding the James organization after the deaths of Lorenzo's family.
He was considered loyal.
Untouchable.
A pillar.
Lorenzo wrote:
He was the last man to see your father alive.
Nell whispered, “Why are you showing me this?”
Lorenzo answered:
Because three people have tried to kill you in the last six weeks.
Nell froze.
“What?”
He wrote:
The first was disguised as a car accident.
The second was a gas leak.
The third was Donovan Pierce.
Her hands went numb.
“Donovan wasn't trying to kill me.”
Lorenzo looked directly at her.
He wrote:
Not knowingly.
Nell stared at him.
She suddenly understood.
Donovan had been arrogant.
Careless.
Used.
Someone else had sent him.
Someone wanted Nell close enough to Lorenzo to become a distraction.
Or perhaps a corpse.
She slowly looked at the photographs again.
“You think my father left something behind.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Then he wrote:
That's why I need you.
Nell laughed nervously.
“You have hundreds of people.”
“I don't trust hundreds of people.”
She looked down.
The room became quiet.
Then Lorenzo placed an old photograph in front of her.
It showed Nell's father beside a little girl.
Nell.
Maybe six years old.
On the back was one handwritten sentence.
If they ever come for her, trust the girl before you trust the men.
Nell's eyes filled.
“Where did you get this?”
Lorenzo pointed toward her father.
“He gave it to my brother.”
Nell whispered.
“My father knew your family?”
Lorenzo nodded.
“And he trusted you?”
He tapped the photograph.
Then wrote:
He trusted the wrong person.
Nell looked at him.
“Your uncle.”
Lorenzo did not answer.
He didn't need to.
May you like
The first piece of the truth had already been placed on the table.
And for the first time in eleven years, Nell began to suspect that her father's death had never been an accident.
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