Chapter 3 - THE MESSAGE FROM THE KITCHEN
Paul disappeared before the police arrived.
His locker was empty.
His phone had been abandoned in the employee restroom.
And the security footage showed him leaving through the rear service entrance three minutes after Salvatore recognized Nora.
Dante watched the recording twice.
Then turned to his security chief, Marco Bellini.
“Find him.”
Marco nodded.
Nora stood near the office door.
“I want to know what's happening.”
Dante looked at her.
“You should go home.”
She folded her arms.
“No.”
“Nora—”
“You don't get to decide that.”
Dante studied her.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
He explained.
Paul had been sending information about the restaurant's private guests to an outside contact.
Most of the messages involved schedules.
Arrivals.
Security arrangements.
But the latest message concerned Nora.
“Why would anyone care about me?” she asked.
Dante looked toward Salvatore.
“That's what we need to find out.”
Salvatore remained silent.
Nora noticed.
“You know something.”
The old man looked at her.
“Your grandfather had something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Nora frowned.
“What kind of ledger?”
“Records from Sicily.”
Dante's expression sharpened.
“Papa.”
Salvatore continued.
“Pietro kept copies of financial transactions. Names. Dates. Payments.”
Nora stared.
“Why?”
“Because he knew someone would eventually come looking.”
She thought of the old metal box beneath her grandfather's bed.
The one he never allowed her to touch.
Her stomach dropped.
Dante noticed.
“What?”
Nora looked up.
“I think I know where it is.”
They drove to her apartment.
Not in a convoy.
Just Dante, Nora, and one security driver.
Nora lived above a laundromat in Bridgeport.
The hallway smelled of detergent and old paint.
Her apartment was small.
A sofa.
A kitchen table.
A shelf crowded with books.
Dante looked around without comment.
Nora appreciated that.
She knelt beside her bed and pulled out the metal box.
It was heavier than she remembered.
The lock had rusted.
She opened it with the key her grandfather had kept on a chain.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
A faded passport.
And a leather-bound ledger.
Nora lifted it.
Dante went still.
On the first page was a name.
SALVATORE GALLO.
Beneath it were dozens of dates.
Payments.
Locations.
And a handwritten note in Sicilian.
Nora translated aloud.
“If my brother ever comes looking, tell him the man who betrayed us was not the one he believed.”
Dante stared.
Nora turned the page.
A photograph slipped out.
It showed a younger Salvatore standing beside Pietro.
Between them stood a third man.
Dante picked it up.
His face changed.
“That's impossible.”
Nora looked at him.
“Who is he?”
Dante swallowed.
“My godfather.”
He turned the photograph toward her.
May you like
“Vincenzo Carbone.”
The man who had spent twenty years presenting himself as the Gallo family's most loyal ally.
