Chapter 4 - A Favor From the Most Feared Man in Brooklyn
Monday began with a broken coffee machine and ended with Marco locking me inside his office.
Not dramatically.
Not at first.
Bellarosa was closed between lunch prep and evening service when Marco approached me beside the kitchen.
“Sophie, office.”
I assumed I had forgotten a side-work task.
Instead, he closed the door behind us.
Then locked it.
I stared at him.
“Why did you do that?”
“We need privacy.”
“You can have privacy without a locked door.”
He ignored me.
“Did you talk to Antonio Russo this weekend?”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“You’re my manager, Marco. Not my parole officer.”
His jaw clenched.
“Did you give him documents?”
Every muscle in my body went still.
I had not told anyone at Bellarosa about the documents.
“Who told you?”
“Nobody.”
“Then how do you know?”
Marco looked toward the door.
For the first time, he didn’t seem angry.
He seemed frightened.
“Sophie, listen carefully.”
I did.
“Stay away from Russo.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand what you’re stepping into.”
“Then explain.”
“I can’t.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You found something connected to Harbor Bridge.”
My pulse accelerated.
“How do you know?”
Marco ran a hand through his hair.
“You need to give those papers back.”
“Back to whom?”
He realized the mistake immediately.
The room changed.
I stared at him.
“Those papers belonged to my grandmother.”
“I meant put them away.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Sophie.”
“Back to whom, Marco?”
He stepped closer.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
His voice rose.
“You think Antonio Russo is going to protect you because his mother likes you?”
“I never asked him to protect me.”
“You think this is some fairy tale where the powerful man notices the poor waitress and fixes her life?”
My face burned.
“That isn’t what this is.”
“It’s exactly what you think it is.”
I moved toward the door.
He blocked me.
“Open it.”
“First promise me you’ll stop.”
“Move.”
His expression cracked.
“Sophie, people have lost everything getting between men like Russo and Caruso.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
“Then unlock the door.”
His hand trembled.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
Marco unlocked it.
I left without another word.
I went directly into the employee bathroom and called Antonio.
He answered on the second ring.
“What happened?”
Apparently my breathing gave me away.
“How do you know something happened?”
“You never call unless something happened.”
Fair point.
I told him about Marco.
When I finished, Antonio was silent.
Too silent.
“Say something.”
“Leave the restaurant.”
“I’m working.”
“Not anymore.”
“You are not firing me from someone else’s restaurant.”
“Sophie.”
“I need this job.”
“You need to be somewhere Marco cannot lock doors.”
“He let me out.”
“That is not the part of the story that concerns me.”
I leaned against the sink.
“What does Marco have to do with Harbor Bridge?”
“I don’t know.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Walk outside.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m across the street.”
I froze.
“You’re what?”
“Across the street.”
I went to the front window.
A black SUV waited at the curb.
Antonio stood beside it.
No bodyguards visible.
Just him.
He looked up.
Our eyes met through the glass.
I should have been annoyed.
I was.
But I was also relieved.
That bothered me.
I told the kitchen manager I felt sick and stepped outside.
Antonio opened the passenger door.
“I’m not getting kidnapped today.”
“If I intended to kidnap you, I would have chosen a less public street.”
“That is somehow not comforting.”
“Get in.”
I did.
He drove himself.
That surprised me.
“Where are we going?”
“To my attorney.”
“Why?”
“Because your documents need to be copied, authenticated, and protected.”
“I already copied them.”
“Good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m learning not to underestimate you.”
We drove toward Manhattan.
After several minutes, I asked, “Do you think Marco is involved?”
“I think he knows something.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
“Could he be scared?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t hurt him.”
Antonio looked at me.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You gave that answer too quickly.”
“Sophie.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
His voice was calm.
“I don’t solve every problem with violence.”
I looked out the window.
“People think you do.”
“People think many things.”
“Are they wrong?”
A long pause.
“Sometimes.”
It was the most honest answer he had given me.
His attorney, Daniel Mercer, worked in a private office overlooking lower Manhattan.
He was in his late fifties, gray-haired, and entirely unimpressed by Antonio Russo.
That made me trust him immediately.
Daniel reviewed the documents.
Then again.
“These billing dates overlap hospitalization records.”
“I noticed.”
“These signatures?”
“Not my grandmother’s.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I have dozens of originals.”
Daniel nodded.
“Good.”
Then he pointed to a provider identification number.
“This appears repeatedly.”
Antonio leaned over.
“What is it?”
“A subcontractor.”
Daniel typed something.
His expression changed.
“Well.”
“What?” I asked.
“The subcontractor is C&M Senior Care.”
Antonio’s face became still.
“Caruso and Moretti?”
Daniel nodded.
I looked between them.
“Who is Moretti?”
Antonio answered.
“Marco’s last name is DeLuca.”
“I know.”
“His mother’s maiden name was Moretti.”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
“We don’t know that Marco is involved,” Daniel said quickly.
Antonio’s gaze remained on the page.
“But he’s connected.”
I stood.
“I need to talk to him.”
“No,” Antonio and Daniel said simultaneously.
“I’m not hiding.”
Daniel removed his glasses.
“Miss Bennett, if fraudulent medical billing occurred across multiple facilities, we may be looking at federal crimes. You should not confront anyone.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Two days ago I was carrying bread baskets.”
“And now,” Daniel said, “you may possess evidence that exposes a multimillion-dollar fraud operation.”
I sat again.
That sentence felt unreal.
Antonio watched me.
“You can stop.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You can give Daniel the records and walk away.”
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
“And what about everyone else?”
His expression shifted.
“The other families.”
“You don’t owe them anything.”
“That isn’t what you believe.”
Antonio said nothing.
“You care because this may involve your father.”
“Yes.”
“I care because it involved my grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“So no. I’m not stopping.”
For a moment, there was something in Antonio’s eyes I couldn’t name.
Respect again.
But warmer.
More personal.
Daniel broke the silence.
“We’ll investigate legally.”
“Legally?” I repeated.
He glanced at Antonio.
“Very legally.”
“I heard the emphasis.”
Antonio looked offended.
That evening, he drove me home.
When we reached my building, I opened the door.
“Sophie.”
I turned.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Fair.”
I hesitated.
Then asked the question that had been bothering me.
“Why did your father trust Vincent Caruso?”
Antonio looked through the windshield.
“Because Vincent saved his life once.”
“How?”
Antonio’s jaw tightened.
“Long story.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
He looked at me.
The words were Maria’s.
He recognized them.
But he didn’t smile.
“Another time.”
I got out.
Upstairs, my apartment looked normal.
Nothing disturbed.
Nothing missing.
Except when I reached my kitchen table, I saw an envelope sitting beneath my door.
No stamp.
No address.
Inside was a photocopy of my grandmother’s forged signature.
Across it, somebody had written three words in red ink.
LET HER REST.
May you like
I immediately called Antonio.
This time, I didn’t hesitate.
