Chapter 2 - THE NAME THAT BROKE THE MAFIA BOSS
For several seconds, Lorenzo could hear nothing except the distant jazz drifting up from the hotel's lower floor.
Matteo Vescari had died in a warehouse fire six years earlier.
The funeral had drawn half of New Orleans.
Lorenzo remembered the closed casket, the priest's trembling voice, and the terrible moment his mother had collapsed beside the grave.
He remembered blaming himself.
Matteo had been twenty-four, reckless, generous, and too trusting for the family he had been born into.
Lorenzo had warned him repeatedly about dealing with Carlo Benedetti.
Then Matteo died during a supposed warehouse accident involving one of Carlo's shipments.
Now a child with Matteo's eyes was sitting in front of him.
And Carlo was watching her as though she were a loaded weapon.
"How old are you, Millie?"
"Five and a half."
"When is your birthday?"
"March ninth."
Lorenzo calculated silently.
Matteo had died in October, six years earlier.
The dates were possible.
But possibility was not proof.
"Did you know your daddy?"
Millie shook her head.
"Mommy has pictures."
"Does she talk about him?"
"Only when she's sad."
Lorenzo nodded.
Then he turned to Rafael.
"Get a photograph of Matteo."
Rafael hesitated.
"Boss—"
"Now."
Carlo pushed back his chair.
"This is absurd. We have business to discuss."
Lorenzo looked at him.
"Then you won't mind waiting."
Carlo's smile vanished.
The other bosses exchanged uneasy glances.
Vincent Marino cleared his throat.
"We can postpone the meeting."
"Excellent idea," Lorenzo said.
Within minutes, the rival bosses had been escorted into separate waiting rooms.
Carlo attempted to leave with them.
Rafael blocked the door.
"Mr. Vescari would like you to remain."
Carlo's face reddened.
"On what grounds?"
Lorenzo answered without looking up.
"Because you seem unusually interested in a frightened child."
Millie sat on the sofa eating a chocolate-chip cookie brought by a hotel employee.
She had asked for milk, not soda.
Lorenzo found himself grateful for the ordinary request.
Rafael returned with a framed photograph.
Matteo stood beside Lorenzo at a family picnic, grinning at the camera.
Millie stopped chewing.
Her little hand reached toward the picture.
"Daddy."
Lorenzo's throat closed.
"Your mommy showed you this photograph?"
Millie nodded.
"He had a blue bicycle."
Lorenzo stared.
Matteo had owned a blue racing bicycle as a teenager.
It had been his favorite possession.
"Did your mommy tell you that?"
"Yes."
She touched Matteo's face.
"He used to sing to me when I was in Mommy's tummy."
Lorenzo turned away.
For six years, he had believed every remaining piece of Matteo's life was buried beneath the earth.
Now he was looking at a child who might be his niece.
And her mother was missing.
Rafael's phone rang.
He listened.
Then his expression darkened.
"We found the blue door."
Lorenzo stood.
"Where?"
"Old customs warehouse. Riverfront."
"And Clara?"
Rafael shook his head.
"No sign of her."
Millie dropped her cookie.
"Mommy?"
Lorenzo knelt beside her.
"We're going to look for her."
"Promise?"
He thought about the promises men like him made too easily.
Then looked directly into her eyes.
"Yes."
Millie wrapped her arms around his neck.
He froze.
It had been years since anyone had embraced him without fear or calculation.
Then, carefully, he held her.
May you like
Across the room, Carlo Benedetti watched.
And for the first time that night, he looked genuinely afraid.
