Chapter 3 - THE SAFE NOBODY WAS SUPPOSED TO FIND
By the end of my shift, I no longer had a job.
Not because Luca fired me.
Because Greg did.
He waited until the Moretti party left, then dragged me into his office.
"You held his child for twenty-three minutes."
"He asked me to."
"You opened personal jewelry at the table."
"The baby opened it."
"You disrupted one of our highest-profile reservations."
I stared at him.
"By calming a crying baby?"
Greg rubbed his forehead.
"Avery, I need employees who understand boundaries."
I almost laughed.
For eleven months, I'd worked doubles.
Covered shifts.
Stayed late.
Never called out.
And apparently the moment a billionaire mafia boss's baby liked me too much, I became a liability.
"Fine."
I took off my apron.
"Then pay me through tonight."
His expression changed.
"What?"
"My final paycheck."
"You'll receive it on schedule."
"No. State law says—"
A knock interrupted us.
Luca stood in the doorway.
Greg nearly swallowed his own tongue.
"Mr. Moretti."
Luca looked at me.
"Problem?"
I crossed my arms.
"I've been fired."
Greg rushed to speak.
"It's an internal staffing matter."
Luca's expression didn't change.
"Then I'll stay out of it."
That surprised both of us.
He looked at me.
"But before you leave, Frank found the safe."
My heart pounded.
"Where?"
"Old Moretti warehouse. South Philadelphia."
Greg stared.
I ignored him.
"Why tell me?"
"Because the key belongs to you."
I looked down at the tiny brass key I'd placed on a chain around my wrist.
"How do you know it isn't yours?"
Luca gave me a faint smile.
"Because my family has spent twenty-eight years pretending it doesn't exist."
That answer was good enough.
Two hours later, I sat in the back of an SUV with Luca, Frank, and an attorney named Rebecca Sloan.
The warehouse had been sealed under the supervision of investigators reviewing old Moretti records.
Nobody simply broke into it.
That mattered to me more than Luca seemed to realize.
The safe was hidden behind a false wall.
My key fit.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
Cassette tapes.
And a stack of letters tied with blue ribbon.
The first letter was addressed to my mother.
Marianne,
If I don't make it back, tell our daughter I tried.
My hands stopped moving.
Daughter.
I looked at Luca.
He was staring at the same word.
Frank whispered, "Avery..."
I turned toward him.
"No."
Nobody spoke.
I shook my head.
"No. My father was David Cole."
My mother had told me he died before I was born.
She kept one photograph of him.
A blurry image of a man standing near a lake.
Frank reached for one of the photographs inside the safe.
He turned it toward me.
Matteo Moretti.
Same face as the man in the lake photo.
My knees almost gave way.
Luca caught my elbow.
I pulled away instinctively.
He immediately released me.
I stared at the picture.
Then at the letter.
Then at Frank.
"My father was Matteo Moretti?"
Frank nodded.
And suddenly the reason Luca's baby had stared at me like he recognized me became terrifyingly simple.
May you like
Leo wasn't reaching for a stranger.
He was reaching for family.
