Chapter 2 - THE OLD MAN IN APARTMENT 6B
I read the sentence six times.
Then somebody knocked on my door.
Three slow knocks.
My heart stopped.
I grabbed the heaviest object within reach.
It was a frying pan.
Not exactly intimidating, but I had student loans and no firearm.
“Who is it?”
“Gabriel.”
Of course it was.
I opened the door three inches.
Gabriel Rossi stood in the hallway wearing the same black suit from dinner.
He looked tired.
And irritated.
“How did you find my address?”
“Your employment paperwork.”
“That feels illegal.”
“It probably is.”
I started closing the door.
He put one hand against it.
“My father believes you’re in danger.”
“Your father also insulted me before dessert.”
“He likes you.”
“That is a disturbing definition of affection.”
For half a second, Gabriel almost smiled.
Then his eyes lowered.
He saw the envelope in my hand.
His expression changed.
“What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“Tessa.”
“You don’t get to use the scary voice in my apartment.”
“I’m not trying to scare you.”
“You naturally sound like a man ordering someone buried under concrete.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is not helping.”
I opened the door wider.
“You have five minutes.”
Gabriel entered.
My apartment suddenly felt even smaller.
His gaze moved across the unpaid hospital bills stacked beside my laptop.
I stepped in front of them.
“Don’t.”
He looked at me.
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
Good.
My mother had been in long-term neurological care for almost twelve years after a hit-and-run left her with serious brain injuries.
Insurance covered less every year.
I worked double shifts.
I skipped vacations.
I knew the exact number in my checking account at all times.
I did not need a mafia prince looking at my financial disasters with pity.
Gabriel nodded toward the envelope.
“Was it from Cosenza?”
I hesitated.
Then handed it to him.
He read the line.
His face hardened.
“What else did he leave you?”
I reached into my pocket.
The brass key.
Gabriel stared.
“Do you know what it opens?”
“No.”
“Did Cosenza ever mention my family?”
“Not directly.”
“Never?”
“He talked about Sicily. Brothers. Betrayal. A father who chose the wrong son.”
Gabriel became very still.
“What exactly did he say?”
I tried to remember.
“He said families don’t break because strangers hate each other.”
Gabriel finished the sentence softly.
“They break because relatives know where to cut.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
“My father says the same thing.”
The silence between us changed.
Mr. Cosenza had connected them somehow.
Gabriel looked toward my window.
“Where did he live?”
“Apartment 6B. Across the hall.”
The apartment had been sealed since his supposed death.
Gabriel examined the lock.
Then he looked at me.
“You’re going to tell me not to open it.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Then I used the brass key.
It fit.
Inside, the apartment smelled like dust, basil, and the strong soap Mr. Cosenza always used.
Everything looked untouched.
Gabriel searched carefully while I checked the kitchen.
Behind a loose tile beneath the sink, we found a metal box.
The brass key opened that too.
Inside was an old leather ledger filled with handwritten Sicilian.
Gabriel turned one page.
“Can you read this?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
The first entries listed shipping dates, company names, payments, and initials.
Then one name appeared repeatedly.
Vittorio Rossi.
Gabriel stared at it.
“My uncle.”
“What does it mean?”
Before I could answer, I turned another page.
A photograph slipped out.
It showed Mr. Cosenza standing beside a much younger woman.
I knew her immediately.
My mother.
On the back, he had written:
Anna Taylor saw what Vittorio did. If anything happens to me, protect her daughter.
My maiden-name mother had never told me she knew anyone in the Rossi family.
Gabriel slowly looked up.
“Tessa…”
I could barely breathe.
Then I read the entry beside my mother’s name.
The date was twelve years ago.
The same night she was struck by a car.
May you like
Underneath it, Angelo Rossi had written:
Witness survived. Vittorio does not know the daughter knows nothing.
