Chapter 3 - THE ROOM VINCENT REFUSED TO LOCK
By morning, the police had Derek’s statement, the diner footage, and enough witnesses to make pretending nothing happened difficult.
But money makes difficult things surprisingly possible.
Derek was released before noon.
Vincent learned first.
He didn’t tell me to panic.
He told me the truth.
“His attorney got bail.”
I sat on the hospital bed tying my shoes.
“So he can come after me?”
“He can.”
“And Caleb?”
“Missing.”
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“He hasn’t used his home, office, credit cards, or primary phone in ten days.”
“That’s not missing.”
Vincent nodded.
“That’s hiding.”
The hospital would release me in an hour.
My apartment no longer felt safe.
Vincent offered three choices.
A hotel under another name.
A private apartment owned by one of his legitimate companies.
Or the small apartment above Castellano’s Diner.
“You’re giving me options?”
“Yes.”
“Most terrifying mafia boss in New York?”
“So I’m told.”
“You’re terrible at being controlling.”
His eyes flickered.
“I’m trying not to be.”
I chose the apartment above the diner.
It had one bedroom, faded wallpaper, and a fire escape overlooking the alley.
It also had three locks I could operate myself.
Vincent handed me the keys.
“No guards inside.”
“Outside?”
“Two, unless you tell me no.”
I considered it.
“Outside is fine.”
He nodded.
No argument.
That evening, I couldn’t sleep.
Around midnight, I went downstairs.
The diner was closed.
Moonlight fell across the checkered floor where Derek had hit me.
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
Then Vincent’s voice came from a booth.
“You don’t have to stand there.”
I looked over.
He was alone with a cup of coffee.
“I thought mafia bosses slept in castles.”
“Terrible commute.”
I almost smiled.
Then I noticed a framed photograph above his booth.
A young woman with dark hair stood beside an elderly woman in an apron.
“Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother?”
“Teresa.”
I moved closer.
Sophia looked about twenty-four.
Happy.
Alive.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
“She worked here during college. My mother believed nobody was too important to carry plates.”
I noticed handwriting along the bottom of the frame.
A sentence written by Sophia.
Dad, if I ever get scared enough to lie, please ask me twice.
My chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent didn’t answer immediately.
Finally, he said, “It means I asked once.”
His voice cracked so slightly I almost missed it.
“And when she told me she was fine, I believed her.”
Then Vincent revealed something he had never admitted publicly.
Two weeks before Sophia died, she had come to him with a bruise on her wrist.
He had asked what happened.
She said she’d fallen.
May you like
He let her leave.
The next time he saw his daughter alive, Carlo DeLuca was standing beside her.
