Chapter 4 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO REMEMBERED HER MOTHER
Z
Adrian Moretti's office occupied the top floor of a restored brick warehouse overlooking the East River.
Delia expected armed guards, marble statues, and men who spoke in whispers.
Instead, the lobby contained polished concrete floors, enormous windows, and a receptionist who offered her tea.
Gabriel escorted her upstairs.
Adrian stood beside a long wooden table.
He wore a navy suit without a tie.
When he saw Delia, his expression softened.
“Miss Marsh.”
She stopped several feet away.
“Mr. Moretti.”
He almost smiled.
“You found out.”
“Google is surprisingly informative.”
He nodded.
“Sometimes.”
Delia folded her arms.
“Why did you invite me?”
Adrian looked toward the photograph on his desk.
It was a framed picture of a woman in a waitress uniform standing outside the Copper Lantern.
Evelyn Marsh.
Delia's mother.
Her breath caught.
“Where did you get that?”
Adrian looked at her.
“Your mother gave it to my father.”
Delia stared.
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“Because she helped me when I was eleven.”
Adrian had grown up in the Moretti family, surrounded by wealth and violence.
His father, Lorenzo, controlled a complicated network of legitimate shipping businesses and criminal operations.
Adrian had been expected to inherit everything.
But when he was eleven, a power struggle inside the family turned dangerous.
One night, men loyal to a rival faction attempted to seize him as leverage against Lorenzo.
The boy escaped through a service entrance and ran into the streets.
He was frightened.
Cold.
And injured.
He eventually reached the Copper Lantern.
Evelyn was working the late shift.
“She hid me in the storage room,” Adrian said quietly.
Delia stared.
“My mother?”
He nodded.
“She cleaned my cuts. Gave me soup. And refused to tell the men searching for me that she'd seen me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Your mother didn't know who I was. She only knew I was a frightened child.”
Delia felt tears rise.
“That sounds like her.”
Adrian smiled sadly.
“She told me something I've never forgotten.”
“What?”
He looked directly at her.
“Kindness isn't something people should have to earn.”
Delia covered her mouth.
Her mother used to say that.
All the time.
Adrian continued.
“Patrick Coleman owned the bar then. He knew my father. He arranged for me to be returned safely.”
“And Wade?”
“Wade was a teenager working weekends.”
Delia frowned.
“Then why would he take Mom's photograph down?”
Adrian's expression darkened.
“That's what I'm trying to understand.”
He placed an old document on the table.
It was a copy of a property agreement involving the Copper Lantern.
Patrick Coleman had granted Evelyn a small ownership interest in the business after she helped keep it operating during a difficult period.
Delia stared.
“My mother owned part of the bar?”
“According to this document, yes.”
She looked up.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
Adrian shook his head.
“I don't know.”
He continued.
“The ownership interest should have been addressed when Patrick transferred the business. But the available records are inconsistent.”
Delia sat down slowly.
For years, she'd believed her mother had been only an employee.
A hardworking woman who cleaned tables, carried trays, and struggled to pay hospital bills.
Now she was discovering that Evelyn had once held a legal interest in the place where her daughter had been humiliated and fired.
Adrian leaned forward.
“Delia, I want you to meet with an independent attorney.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because these documents may affect your family's rights.”
He paused.
“And because I don't want you depending on my interpretation.”
That surprised her.
“You're not offering to buy the bar?”
“No.”
“Or hand me a million dollars?”
He smiled faintly.
“Would you accept it?”
“No.”
“Then I thought I'd spare us both the argument.”
Delia laughed despite herself.
For the first time, the most feared mafia boss on the East Coast looked almost ordinary.
Then she remembered the violence associated with his name.
“Mr. Moretti, I appreciate what you're telling me. But I need to know something.”
He nodded.
“Ask.”
“Are you still involved in organized crime?”
His expression changed.
For a moment, he looked genuinely uncomfortable.
Then he answered.
“Yes.”
Delia's stomach tightened.
He continued.
“I have legitimate companies and activities I'm not proud of. I'm not going to pretend otherwise.”
She looked down.
“Then why should I trust you?”
Adrian was quiet.
Finally, he said, “You shouldn't trust me simply because I remember your mother. Judge what I do, and get independent advice.”
Delia studied him.
It wasn't the reassurance she'd expected.
But it was more honest than a promise.
When she left, Adrian handed her a small envelope.
Inside was the old receipt from the Copper Lantern.
Thirty-five dollars.
Folded into quarters.
Delia smiled faintly.
“You kept it.”
Adrian nodded.
“I did.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“Because it's the first time in years someone helped me without knowing whether I could repay them.”
Her throat tightened.
Then he said something that made her stop.
“Delia, I think your mother left you more than a photograph.”
She stared.
“What?”
May you like
Adrian looked toward the property agreement.
“I think she left you a part of the Copper Lantern.”
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