Chapter 3 - THE GRANDMOTHER WITH A LOCKED DRAWER
Rosie drove straight to her grandmother's apartment after leaving the Drake.
It was nearly one in the morning.
She didn't care.
The apartment occupied the second floor of an old brick building on Chicago's West Side.
Plastic flowers decorated the hallway.
A tiny statue of Saint Anthony stood beside the front door.
Everything looked exactly as it had when Rosie was a child.
She knocked.
"Nonna?"
No answer.
She knocked again.
Finally, the door opened.
Antonella Bellini stood in a pink bathrobe holding a wooden spoon.
"Rosalina! Do you know what time it is?"
Rosie stepped inside.
"Why does Lorenzo Bianca know you?"
The wooden spoon fell.
It struck the tile with a sharp crack.
Antonella stared at her granddaughter.
For the first time in Rosie's life, the old woman looked frightened.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"At work."
Antonella reached for the door.
"Lock it."
"Nonna—"
"Lock the door, Rosalina."
Rosie obeyed.
Her grandmother moved to the kitchen table and sat heavily.
"Tell me everything."
Rosie described the private dining room.
The conversation in Sicilian.
The vendor call.
Salvatore's reaction.
And Lorenzo's warning.
Antonella listened without interrupting.
When Rosie finished, the old woman covered her face.
"I prayed this day would never come."
Rosie sat opposite her.
"What happened in Palermo?"
Antonella lowered her hands.
"Your grandfather worked for a powerful family."
"The Biancas?"
"Yes."
Rosie stared.
"What did he do?"
"He managed their accounts."
"Like a bookkeeper?"
Antonella gave a sad smile.
"Something like that."
Rosie remembered stories about her grandfather, Antonio Bellini.
He'd supposedly died in an industrial accident before she was born.
Antonella rarely spoke about him.
"Was Grandpa involved in organized crime?"
The old woman looked down.
"Yes."
The admission struck Rosie harder than she expected.
For a moment, she could hear only the refrigerator humming.
Then Antonella continued.
"Antonio discovered that someone close to the Bianca family was stealing money. Not a little money. Enough to finance a war."
"Who?"
"A man named Carlo Vescari."
Rosie frowned.
"Was he related to Dante?"
Antonella nodded.
"Dante Vescari is his son."
Rosie felt cold.
The sweating man from Lorenzo's dinner.
The same man who'd been explaining missing money.
"History is repeating itself," she whispered.
Antonella's eyes filled.
"Yes."
"What happened to Lorenzo's father?"
The old woman looked toward the window.
"Vescari arranged an ambush. Lorenzo's father was killed. Your grandfather tried to expose the truth."
"And?"
"They murdered him too."
Rosie reached for her grandmother's hand.
"Nonna..."
Antonella squeezed her fingers.
"I escaped because someone helped me."
"Who?"
Antonella hesitated.
Then she stood and walked toward her bedroom.
"Come."
She opened an old dresser and removed the bottom drawer.
Beneath a false wooden panel lay a small metal box.
Rosie had never seen it before.
Antonella unlocked it with a key hanging around her neck.
Inside were photographs, old letters, and a faded leather notebook.
On the first page was a name.
Lorenzo Bianca.
Rosie looked up.
"Why is his name in Grandpa's notebook?"
Antonella's lips trembled.
"Because Antonio wasn't just keeping financial records."
She turned the page.
A photograph slipped onto the bed.
It showed a young Antonella standing beside a handsome man with dark hair.
In her arms was a baby wrapped in a white blanket.
Rosie examined the inscription.
Palermo, 1989.
Antonella touched the child's face.
"Your grandfather was entrusted with protecting the Bianca family's youngest son."
Rosie looked up.
"Lorenzo?"
Antonella shook her head.
"No, sweetheart."
May you like
Her voice broke.
"His baby brother."
