Chapter 3 - THE KEY INSIDE THE JUKEBOX
Alessandro wanted Mom moved immediately.
Mom refused immediately.
“I am not being smuggled out of my own house.”
“Salvatore knows where you live.”
“He has known for twenty years.”
“He came here tonight.”
“And left.”
“He’ll return.”
“Then charge him for coffee.”
I understood where my personality came from.
Alessandro did not.
He looked at me.
“Talk to her.”
“You're assuming I can.”
Mom pointed at both of us.
“I am sitting right here.”
Victor hid a smile.
Eventually we compromised.
Two of Alessandro's men remained outside.
Mom hated it.
I hated that I was relieved.
At midnight, Alessandro returned to Rosie’s with me.
He believed Luca had left something there.
“If the photograph directed me to Rosie, there’s probably a second step.”
“Maybe he just expected you to ask questions.”
“Luca never did one thing when he could do six.”
That sounded oddly affectionate.
We searched the diner.
Office.
Pantry.
Kitchen.
Nothing.
Then Victor stood in front of the old jukebox.
“When did this thing last work?”
“Before affordable streaming.”
“Helpful.”
He crouched.
The back panel had a tiny scratch near the lock.
Fresh.
I knelt beside him.
“Someone opened it.”
Alessandro pulled out a small multitool.
“You carry that?”
Victor replied:
“Some people carry guns. Some people carry useful objects.”
Alessandro looked at him.
Victor smiled.
“Boss.”
We opened the panel.
Behind the wiring was a metal key taped to the wood.
No label.
Only three numbers.
417.
Mom recognized them over video call.
“Grand Central lockers.”
Victor frowned.
“Train station?”
“There used to be privately managed storage boxes downstairs years ago.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Daniel used them.”
Of course he did.
By two in the morning, Alessandro, Victor and I stood in a nearly empty terminal.
“This is an extremely bad idea,” I whispered.
Alessandro glanced at me.
“You came voluntarily.”
“I make poor decisions when tired.”
Locker 417 still existed in an old luggage-storage annex.
The key opened it.
Inside was a brown paper package.
A phone.
A sealed envelope.
And a cassette tape.
Victor stared.
“What is everyone's obsession with ancient audio formats?”
Alessandro opened the envelope.
One line.
Sandro—if Rosie gave you this, she finally decided you’re ready to know why Dad died.
Alessandro sat down.
Nobody called him Sandro.
Not anyone I had heard.
His hands trembled slightly.
He unfolded the rest.
It was Luca's handwriting.
He explained that Daniel Kerr had spent years rebuilding the case against Salvatore.
Not only for Vittorio Romano’s murder.
For financial crimes tied to redevelopment projects, bribery and three other deaths.
Daniel finally obtained a current ledger six months earlier.
Then he died.
Before his death, he moved copies into three separate places.
One was with Luca.
One had been mailed to a federal judge.
The third—
Alessandro stopped reading.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Rosie's Diner.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Daniel hid a copy here.”
“When?”
“No date.”
Victor swore.
Alessandro continued.
If Salvatore learns where the third copy is, he’ll destroy the diner to get it. Do not bring your people there unless you are certain who they belong to.
Victor’s face changed.
“That's insulting.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“You think?”
“A little.”
Then Alessandro reached the final paragraph.
His expression collapsed.
I had never seen someone go still like that.
“What does it say?”
He handed me the paper.
One more thing. Salvatore didn’t kill Dad because Dad was losing control. He killed him because Dad planned to take both of us out of the life. He had already contacted Daniel. He was going to testify and disappear with us. You didn’t inherit the family because Dad chose you. You inherited it because Salvatore made sure there was nothing else left for you to inherit.
I looked at Alessandro.
His eyes were fixed somewhere far away.
His entire adult identity had just been rewritten in six sentences.
The feared mafia boss.
The heir.
The man who believed his father had died defending an empire.
Actually the son of a man trying to escape it.
Alessandro stood.
“We find the ledger.”
Victor nodded.
I folded the letter.
“You’re not searching my diner at three in the morning.”
They both looked at me.
“What?”
“I open at six.”
Victor stared.
“You’re going to work?”
“I’m twenty-nine dollars short on rent.”
Alessandro's expression shifted.
“You were serious?”
“About what?”
“The rent.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were making a point.”
“I can be broke and articulate at the same time.”
He almost smiled.
Then he reached for his wallet.
“No.”
“I didn't even—”
“No.”
Victor laughed.
“I like her.”
“Victor.”
“Boss.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“This isn't charity.”
“Then what?”
“Payment for closing the diner.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
“I already took three dollars from you.”
He stared.
“You’re impossible.”
“My mother says the same.”
We returned before dawn.
Dana was standing outside.
I stopped.
“What are you doing here?”
She held up her phone.
“Someone broke in.”
The front window was intact.
Door locked.
But inside, every cabinet had been opened.
Tables overturned.
The jukebox pulled away from the wall.
They had searched.
Alessandro's face changed.
“Did you go inside?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I pushed past him.
He caught my arm.
“Don't.”
I jerked free.
“That's my diner.”
“And somebody came looking for what Luca hid.”
I stared through the glass.
Then noticed something.
The framed photographs had been removed.
All except one.
The picture containing sixteen-year-old Luca.
That frame sat on the counter.
Broken.
Behind it, written directly on the wall in red marker:
ROSIE HAD HER CHANCE.
Alessandro went completely cold.
Victor quietly locked the outer gate behind us.
I looked at Alessandro.
“You said Salvatore would come back.”
“Yes.”
“He came to the diner instead.”
“Yes.”
“So what now?”
Alessandro looked through the broken frame at the image of his brother.
May you like
Then at me.
“Now I stop protecting my uncle.”
