Chapter 3 - THE NECKLACE SHE TOLD ME NEVER TO REMOVE
The necklace had been around my neck since my seventeenth birthday.
A small silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
Agatha had fastened it herself.
"Your mother wanted you to have this when you were old enough," she'd told me.
I'd never questioned why Mom hadn't given it to me personally.
Now Carlo Moretti was staring at my collar as though he knew exactly what lay beneath it.
I slipped one hand over the pendant.
Dominic noticed.
"Are you all right?"
"No."
He looked at my trembling fingers.
"Would you like to leave?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
"I'll arrange transportation."
"I can take the subway."
"Of course."
That surprised me.
I'd expected a man like Dominic Moretti to issue orders.
Instead, he stepped aside.
But before I reached the kitchen doors, Martin grabbed my elbow.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Home."
"Your shift isn't over."
I stared at him.
"Then fire me."
His eyes widened.
"What?"
"You told me I wasn't elegant enough for the dining room. You insulted my appearance, ignored my experience, and tried to humiliate me in front of your most important clients."
Martin looked toward the Morettis.
His face turned scarlet.
"You're fired."
"Then we're finished."
I removed my apron.
Placed it in his hands.
And walked out.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then Dominic spoke.
"Mr. Galloway."
Martin turned eagerly.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Who owns this restaurant?"
"Bellafonte Hospitality Group."
"And who holds its controlling interest?"
Martin blinked.
"I'm not sure—"
"I do."
The words stopped me halfway through the door.
Dominic continued.
"I purchased the group eighteen months ago."
Martin went pale.
Dominic glanced toward me.
"Miss Carter's dismissal is suspended pending a formal review of your conduct."
I stared.
He wasn't offering me a favor.
He was holding my manager accountable.
That distinction mattered.
But I had more urgent problems.
I hurried outside.
The Manhattan air was cold enough to sting my cheeks.
I called Agatha.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
My stomach tightened.
I opened her last message.
Then a third text appeared.
Penny, if you can't reach me, go to the church on Sullivan Street. Ask Father Matteo for the blue book.
My fingers went numb.
Because Agatha never involved the church in her personal affairs.
And she certainly never sent messages like this.
A black sedan slowed beside the curb.
The rear window lowered.
Carlo Moretti looked out.
"Miss Carter."
I stopped.
He smiled.
"Get in. We need to talk about your necklace."
I stepped backward.
"No, thank you."
His smile vanished.
"That wasn't a request."
Before he could open the door, another vehicle stopped behind his.
Dominic stepped out.
"Uncle Carlo."
The older man froze.
Dominic glanced at me.
"Penelope, go wherever you need to go."
Then he turned toward Carlo.
"And you and I are going to discuss why you're following one of my employees."
I didn't wait for an answer.
I walked quickly toward the subway entrance.
But halfway down the stairs, my phone vibrated again.
This time, the message contained a photograph.
Agatha's apartment door stood open.
Her living room had been torn apart.
May you like
And written across the wall in black marker were four words.
GIVE BACK THE CHILD.
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