Chapter 2 - The Men Behind the Black Suits
Lorenzo did not call Daniel Krell into the study.
That was the first thing that frightened Emma.
She had expected confrontation.
A slammed door.
Questions.
Threats.
Perhaps one of those quiet conversations people whispered about whenever Lorenzo Moretti’s name appeared in Boston newspapers beside phrases like organized crime investigation and alleged business connections.
Instead Lorenzo behaved as though nothing had happened.
He asked the kitchen to bring Emma tea.
He told Victor Hale that the morning meeting would begin thirty minutes late.
Then he sat behind his desk and opened the document he had been reading before the tray fell.
Emma remained near the window.
“You’re pretending,” she finally said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Krell came here expecting something.”
Lorenzo turned a page.
“I would like to know what.”
Emma hugged her cardigan around herself.
“And I’m supposed to do what?”
“Exactly what you normally do.”
“You want me to walk past him?”
“No.”
Lorenzo closed the folder.
“You’re staying in this room until he leaves the east wing.”
“That isn’t what I normally do.”
“No.”
His gaze met hers.
“But I’m learning.”
There was something almost apologetic in the way he said it.
Emma looked away.
Lorenzo made three calls.
None sounded unusual.
He asked his attorney to postpone lunch.
He told the estate manager to check an invoice.
Then he called someone named Adrian and said only, “I need the February personnel archive brought to Beacon Hill. Paper copies. Do not email anything.”
Emma noticed the distinction.
Paper.
Not electronic.
When Lorenzo ended the call, she asked, “You think they can see your email?”
“I think assuming they can’t would be careless.”
That answer caused another unpleasant realization.
“You actually believe your security team is involved.”
“I believe three members are.”
“And the others?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma thought of the men she passed every morning.
They opened doors for her.
Moved furniture when she vacuumed.
Once, one of them had carried groceries from her car during a snowstorm.
Normal men.
Polite men.
Men who knew her schedule.
Her address.
Her car.
Her habits.
Lorenzo noticed her face.
“Emma.”
She looked at him.
“No one is going to your apartment.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can.”
“How?”
Lorenzo paused.
Then, perhaps remembering what she had asked of him earlier, he answered honestly.
“I already sent someone.”
Her spine stiffened.
“To my apartment?”
“To watch the building.”
“You did what?”
“From across the street.”
“You don’t get to—”
“I know.”
The speed of his response stopped her.
“I know,” Lorenzo repeated. “You told me what my boundaries were. I should have asked.”
Emma stared at him.
He continued.
“I can call him back.”
She imagined Krell knowing where she lived.
“No.”
Lorenzo waited.
“Leave him there.”
“Fine.”
“But nobody goes inside.”
“They won’t.”
“And nobody talks to my landlord.”
“They won’t.”
Emma sat slowly in the chair opposite his desk.
“How are you so calm?”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
“I’m not.”
At 7:46, someone knocked.
Lorenzo opened the door only a few inches.
Victor Hale stood outside.
Emma could not see him, but she recognized his voice.
“Krell wants to speak with you privately.”
“About?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Tell him ten minutes.”
Victor hesitated.
“Sir, he seems concerned about Miss Carter.”
Emma stopped breathing.
Lorenzo did not move.
“Why?”
“He said there was an incident in the neighborhood last night.”
For the first time that morning, anger visibly crossed Lorenzo’s face.
Not because Krell knew.
Because Krell had chosen to pretend concern.
“What incident?”
“He didn’t explain.”
Lorenzo’s voice became casual.
“Then I suppose it isn’t urgent.”
He closed the door.
Emma whispered, “He’s trying to get ahead of it.”
“Yes.”
“He’s going to say I caused trouble.”
“Probably.”
“He’ll say I lied.”
“Probably.”
Emma stood.
“I should leave.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo—”
It was the first time she had ever used his first name.
Both noticed.
Neither mentioned it.
“I can’t stay here while he builds a story about me.”
“That’s precisely why you should.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t understand men like him.”
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
Despite everything, Emma nearly laughed.
“All right,” she said. “That came out wrong.”
“A little.”
“What I mean is men like Krell are good at making women sound unreasonable.”
Lorenzo’s expression became serious again.
“So let him talk.”
“And if you believe him?”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know what he’ll say.”
“I know what your wrist looks like.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
Lorenzo continued.
“And I know Krell was supposed to be sixty miles away this morning.”
“Where?”
“Providence.”
“Why?”
“He asked yesterday for permission to attend his brother-in-law’s surgery.”
Emma frowned.
“So he lied.”
“Yes.”
“Or the surgery changed.”
“Possibly.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“But Krell is not careless. He would have called.”
At 7:57, Lorenzo left Emma in the study with the door locked from the inside.
He did not bring his phone.
He did not bring paperwork.
And he deliberately removed the small silver watch from his wrist before going.
Emma looked at it after he left.
Why?
She understood ten minutes later.
The watch recorded audio.
When Lorenzo returned, he locked the door and pressed a button on the side.
Daniel Krell’s voice filled the room.
“…saw Miss Carter outside Russo’s bakery last evening. She appeared upset.”
Then Lorenzo’s recorded voice.
“About what?”
“She misunderstood a conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“Neighborhood security.”
“What were you doing there?”
A pause.
“Checking an alarm complaint.”
Emma whispered, “There was no alarm.”
Lorenzo raised one finger.
The recording continued.
“Miss Carter became confrontational. She accused us of extorting the bakery.”
“Did you touch her?”
Another pause.
“Only when she stepped into the street.”
Emma’s face burned.
Krell continued.
“She nearly walked into traffic. I pulled her back.”
Lorenzo stopped the recording.
Emma stared at him.
“That’s not what happened.”
“I know.”
“He’s making himself the hero.”
“I know.”
“I was nowhere near the street.”
“I know.”
Emma paced toward the window.
“This is exactly what I meant.”
Lorenzo watched her.
“He’ll say I’m unstable. He’ll say I misunderstood. Maybe he’ll find someone to claim they saw it.”
“He already did.”
Emma turned.
“What?”
Lorenzo restarted the recording.
Krell’s voice continued.
“Mercer and Collins both witnessed it.”
The two men in the security photograph.
Emma felt nauseated.
Three stories against hers.
Three professional security employees.
One maid.
“They planned this,” she whispered.
“Probably before coming here.”
Lorenzo opened a drawer.
Inside was a personnel roster.
He placed three photographs on the desk.
Daniel Krell.
Thomas Mercer.
Evan Collins.
Emma pointed.
“Them.”
Lorenzo nodded.
He looked neither surprised nor angry now.
He looked focused.
That was somehow worse.
“What happens next?” Emma asked.
“We find out whether this started at Russo’s bakery.”
“You think there are others?”
“Krell earns one hundred and twelve thousand dollars a year.”
Emma stared.
“He was threatening an old baker for an envelope?”
“Exactly.”
Lorenzo pulled another file toward him.
“If money is his motive, the amount has to justify the risk.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Mr. Russo may not be one victim.”
Emma remembered what she had heard.
The payment doubles next month.
Businesses that forget who protects the neighborhood.
Not business.
Businesses.
Plural.
“Oh my God.”
Lorenzo looked toward the door.
“At noon, my personnel archive arrives.”
“And then?”
“We compare schedules.”
“With what?”
“Every complaint, vandalism report, fire inspection, delivery problem, or unexplained closure involving neighborhood businesses during the last eighteen months.”
Emma stared at him.
“You have all that?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“You’re going to help me get it.”
Emma blinked.
“I clean your bathrooms.”
“You also remembered what kind of flowers make my mother sneeze after hearing it once.”
“That’s different.”
“You know half the businesses between here and Charles Street by name.”
“That’s because I buy groceries.”
“You notice people.”
“So?”
“So do I.”
Lorenzo’s voice softened.
“And I noticed that when you told me about Russo, you weren’t most afraid for yourself.”
Emma said nothing.
“You were afraid for him.”
“He’s seventy-two.”
“He’s seventy-four.”
Emma stared.
Lorenzo shrugged.
“He sends my mother cannoli every Christmas.”
“You really do know everything.”
“No.”
His eyes moved toward the security roster.
“That is becoming painfully obvious.”
Before Emma could respond, a soft knock came from the hall.
“Mr. Moretti?”
It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Bell.
“There is a gentleman at the employee entrance asking for Miss Carter.”
Emma’s blood went cold.
Lorenzo stood.
“Who?”
Mrs. Bell answered through the door.
“He says his name is Mr. Russo.”
Emma and Lorenzo looked at each other.
Lorenzo unlocked the door.
“Bring him here.”
Mrs. Bell hesitated.
“He won’t come inside.”
“Why?”
“He says there are security men in the hall.”
Emma’s heart sank.
Lorenzo stepped into the doorway.
“Where is he now?”
“Outside by the service courtyard.”
Lorenzo looked at Emma.
She already knew.
Mr. Russo had not come to ask for help.
He had come because he was terrified.
And whatever Daniel Krell had done to the neighborhood was serious enough that a seventy-four-year-old baker had walked to Lorenzo Moretti’s mansion before eight in the morning rather than risk making a phone call.
Emma reached for her coat.
Lorenzo shook his head.
“You stay here.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“He came because of me.”
“He may be walking into a trap.”
“Then you need somebody he trusts.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
She pulled her sleeve over the bruises.
“You said I notice people.”
A beat passed.
Then Lorenzo opened the door wider.
“Stay beside me.”
They crossed the marble hall together.
At the bottom of the staircase, Victor Hale watched them pass.
Beyond him stood four security officers in black suits.
Emma knew two of them.
Yesterday, their presence would have made her feel safe.
Today, she wondered which of them already knew why Russo had come.
The old baker waited outside the iron gate.
When he saw Lorenzo, he took one step backward.
When he saw Emma, his expression collapsed with relief.
“Miss Carter.”
Emma hurried toward him.
“Mr. Russo, are you okay?”
He nodded too quickly.
Then his eyes shifted toward the guards behind Lorenzo.
Fear changed his face.
He whispered something in Italian.
Lorenzo answered in the same language.
Mr. Russo shook his head.
“What did he say?” Emma asked.
Lorenzo’s eyes remained fixed on the old man.
“He said he cannot speak here.”
“Why?”
Russo looked toward the mansion.
Then at the security officers.
Finally, he whispered in English.
“Because they have someone inside this house.”
Lorenzo’s face became completely unreadable.
Russo reached beneath his coat.
For one frightening second, several guards moved.
Lorenzo raised his hand.
“Stop.”
Russo removed a folded envelope.
Old.
Grease-stained.
He gave it to Emma rather than Lorenzo.
Inside were twelve handwritten payment dates.
Each had an amount beside it.
At the bottom was a set of initials.
D.K.
Daniel Krell.
Emma looked up.
Russo’s lips trembled.
“This is only mine.”
Lorenzo asked quietly, “How many others?”
Russo looked toward the Beacon Hill street behind him.
“More than you want to know.”
And then he said the words that would turn Lorenzo Moretti’s entire organization against itself.
May you like
“They told us you ordered it.”
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