Chapter 4 - THE LEDGER BAKED INTO THE WALL
Police came.
Not Alessandro’s people.
Actual police.
That surprised me.
“I assumed you avoided them.”
“I avoid inefficient ones.”
“Comforting.”
The break-in generated a report.
No valuables stolen.
No obvious evidence.
The officer looked at the red writing.
“Family issue?”
Alessandro replied:
“You could say that.”
I kicked his shoe.
He glanced at me.
“What?”
“Helpful answers.”
The officer left without understanding anything.
Maybe that was best.
We closed Rosie’s for the day.
Cost me money.
Alessandro noticed me calculating behind the counter.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Doing math with your face.”
“I need to know what this costs.”
“I’ll cover lost business.”
“No.”
“This time it isn't charity.”
“Still no.”
“Mara.”
I pointed at him.
“Your family already thinks my mother owes them something. I am not adding financial dependence to the list.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
Victor whispered:
“That was fast.”
Alessandro ignored him.
Mom arrived at noon despite every person telling her not to.
She walked slowly, portable oxygen tank rolling behind her.
The moment she saw the vandalism, she cried.
Not loudly.
She touched the counter.
“This place survived your father.”
I smiled sadly.
“My father wasn't that bad.”
“He tried to cook.”
“Fair.”
Then she saw Luca’s broken photograph.
Everything changed.
“Take it down.”
I removed it.
Behind the frame was nothing.
Alessandro read Luca’s letter again.
Third copy at Rosie’s.
Mom frowned.
“I never had a ledger.”
“Daniel may have hidden it without telling you,” Victor said.
“That sounds like him.”
We searched properly.
Not like burglars.
We checked vents.
Loose floorboards.
Office drawers.
Old safe.
Nothing.
Then Mom sat at the counter.
“What year did Daniel hide it?”
“Unknown,” I said.
“When did he last come here?”
She thought.
“Maybe eight years ago.”
I remembered something.
“Was that when we renovated?”
Mom looked at me.
“The west wall.”
Eight years earlier, a pipe burst behind the kitchen.
Half the diner had to be rebuilt.
Daniel had shown up repeatedly during construction because he was “helping Rosie with insurance paperwork.”
I always assumed they were old friends.
“Who did the drywall?” Alessandro asked.
Mom frowned.
“Daniel arranged the contractor.”
Victor stared at the wall.
“You have got to be kidding.”
Twenty minutes later, we removed a framed menu and cut a careful square through patched drywall.
Inside was a waterproof plastic pouch.
Nobody spoke.
Alessandro opened it.
Ledger pages.
Bank accounts.
Dates.
Property addresses.
Initials.
Government contracts.
Payments.
Enough paper to ruin careers.
Mom sat down.
“Oh, Daniel.”
Victor flipped through.
“This is old.”
Alessandro nodded.
“But paired with Luca's newer copy…”
“It establishes history.”
Exactly.
My audit brain took over.
“Don't touch more.”
Three men looked at me.
“What?”
“Fingerprints.”
Victor smiled.
“See? Useful.”
I photographed each page in place.
Then sealed the pouch again.
Alessandro watched me.
“You really do this for work?”
“Usually the people stealing money wear nicer ties.”
Victor looked at Alessandro’s tie.
“She's insulting you.”
“I noticed.”
Then Mom gasped.
Not dramatically.
Painfully.
Her hand went to her chest.
“Mama?”
She couldn't answer.
Her oxygen alarm started screaming.
Everything became movement.
Chair back.
Tank.
Phone.
Alessandro caught her as she slipped sideways.
“Mara.”
“Call 911.”
Victor already was.
I knelt.
“Mom, look at me.”
Her lips looked gray.
“Stay with me.”
Her eyes found mine.
Alessandro held the oxygen mask while I adjusted the tubing.
His hands did not shake.
Mine did.
Paramedics arrived in six minutes.
They took Mom.
I climbed into the ambulance.
Alessandro tried to follow.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I'll come separately.”
At the hospital, doctors stabilized her.
Exacerbation of pulmonary fibrosis complicated by infection.
Words I already hated.
They admitted her.
I sat beside her bed until midnight.
Then someone placed coffee near my hand.
Alessandro.
“Hospital coffee?”
“I tasted it first.”
“Why?”
“To confirm it was terrible.”
I laughed despite myself.
He sat.
No bodyguards.
No expensive coat.
Just him.
“You don't have to stay.”
“I know.”
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then he said:
“My mother died when I was eleven.”
I looked at him.
He rarely volunteered anything personal.
“Cancer.”
“I'm sorry.”
“My father stopped sleeping afterward.”
He looked toward Mom.
“Luca started climbing into my bed every night.”
I smiled slightly.
“How old?”
“Six.”
“You let him?”
“I threatened him.”
“And?”
“He came anyway.”
Another pause.
“After Dad died, I thought my job was to keep whatever remained together.”
His voice tightened.
“Salvatore told me that meant becoming harder.”
I said nothing.
“He told me Dad died because he became soft.”
“Luca says the opposite.”
“Yes.”
He looked at his hands.
“For twenty years, I became the man my father's killer said my father should have been.”
That hurt.
“I don't know what to do with that.”
“You don't have to know tonight.”
He looked at me.
“You say things like it's easy.”
“No.”
I looked toward Mom.
“I just don't have energy for complicated lies anymore.”
At 1:17 a.m., Victor called.
Alessandro answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then stood.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Someone accessed your mother's hospital record.”
My body went cold.
“Who?”
“A user account belonging to a physician who retired last year.”
“Why?”
Alessandro's eyes hardened.
“To find out whether Rosie was alive.”
I stood.
“Salvatore?”
“Maybe.”
Then Victor said something through the phone.
Alessandro went silent.
“What?”
He lowered the phone.
“They also searched your name.”
My stomach tightened.
“For what?”
“Emergency contacts.”
I looked at Mom.
Then the hallway.
Then Alessandro.
“They're trying to find out who I would call.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He stared at me.
“Because they don't know where Luca is.”
The realization came slowly.
“They think I do.”
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
“I met you forty-eight hours ago.”
“They don't care.”
“So what?”
His jaw tightened.
“You just became useful.”
The word made my skin crawl.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
Mara, don't trust anyone wearing the Romano name. Not even Alessandro.
Attached was a photograph.
Me.
May you like
Sitting beside Mom’s hospital bed.
Taken less than ten minutes earlier.
