Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Red Dress
Vanessa Genovese knew how to insult someone without changing the pitch of her voice.
It was a talent money couldn't buy, though several generations of old wealth had apparently perfected it.
“Sophia works with my mother,” Dante said.
Vanessa looked at the flour on Sophia's apron.
“How sweet.”
Elena entered behind her.
“She's my companion.”
Vanessa turned.
“Elena.”
“Vanessa.”
No embrace followed.
Sophia noticed.
Vanessa did too.
“I brought you something.”
“A personality?”
Dante closed his eyes.
“Mama.”
Vanessa's smile hardened.
“A scarf from Milan.”
“I have a neck already.”
Sophia coughed into her hand.
Dante looked at her.
She looked at the pasta.
Vanessa noticed everything.
That evening she stayed for dinner.
Sophia offered to eat in the kitchen, but Elena refused.
“You cooked. Sit.”
Vanessa's eyebrows lifted.
“The staff eats with us now?”
Elena cut her chicken.
“Sophia isn't staff.”
Sophia glanced at Dante.
Technically, she absolutely was.
He said nothing.
Vanessa sipped wine.
“How did you two meet?”
Elena answered before Sophia could.
“She reminded me how not to die.”
The table became quiet.
Vanessa's expression softened slightly.
For one moment, Sophia saw something almost human beneath the armor.
Then Dante asked Sophia to pass the bread.
Their fingers touched.
Vanessa saw that too.
Over the following days, Vanessa became a frequent visitor.
She brought gifts for Elena.
She brought documents for Dante.
She brought herself whenever Sophia and Dante happened to be in the same room.
Sophia tried not to care.
It should have been easy.
Dante was her employer.
A dangerous one.
A controlling one.
An infuriating one.
Unfortunately, he was also becoming familiar.
That was worse.
One evening Sophia found him alone in the library.
Blood stained his knuckles.
She stopped.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Interesting. Nothing appears to have punched you.”
Dante glanced at his hand.
“Occupational hazard.”
Sophia fetched the first-aid box.
“I don't want to know.”
“Good.”
She cleaned his knuckles.
He watched her.
“You're not afraid of blood?”
“My father once tried fixing a lawn mower after drinking six beers.”
Dante almost smiled.
“What happened?”
“He discovered lawn mowers don't respect optimism.”
Dante laughed.
Sophia wrapped his hand.
“There.”
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
“You should stay away from me,” he said.
Sophia looked up.
“That sounds like excellent advice.”
“Then take it.”
“You're the one standing still.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
A door opened downstairs.
Sophia released his hand.
Three nights later, Elena showed Sophia an old wooden recipe box.
Inside were handwritten cards yellowed with age.
Sophia pulled one out.
The handwriting stopped her.
She knew those loops.
Those crooked capital R's.
“Where did you get this?”
Elena's face changed.
Sophia held up the card.
“This is my grandmother's handwriting.”
Elena took it.
For a long time she said nothing.
“You knew Rosa.”
It wasn't a question.
Elena closed the box.
“Long ago.”
“How?”
“Some memories should sleep.”
“My grandmother's dead. She can't answer me.”
Elena touched Sophia's cheek.
“Then let an old woman choose the right moment.”
Sophia wanted to argue.
She didn't.
Downstairs, Vanessa stood outside the half-open door.
She had heard enough.
That night, Vanessa called her father.
Carlo Genovese answered on the second ring.
“You sound unhappy.”
“There is a girl in Dante's house.”
“There are always girls around powerful men.”
“Not like this one.”
Carlo was silent.
Vanessa looked through the window toward the gardens.
“Elena loves her.”
“That matters.”
“Dante watches her.”
“That matters more.”
Vanessa tightened her grip on the phone.
“Our engagement was supposed to be announced in January.”
“Then make sure it is.”
“You think I don't know that?”
“I think you've spent your entire life believing promises are the same as guarantees.”
Vanessa swallowed.
Her father continued.
“If Dante Moretti wants a waitress, let him have his amusement.”
“And if she isn't an amusement?”
Carlo's answer came quietly.
“Then discover what she is.”
Vanessa did.
She hired a private investigator.
Within forty-eight hours, a folder arrived.
Sophia Rossi.
Twenty-four.
No criminal record.
No savings.
Overdue rent.
Father: Anthony Rossi.
Gambling addiction.
Debts.
Several loans.
One debt recently transferred from the Romano brothers to Dante Moretti.
Vanessa read that page twice.
Then she smiled.
At breakfast the next morning, Sophia found an envelope beneath her plate.
Inside was a check for forty thousand dollars.
She stared at it.
Vanessa sat opposite her.
“What is this?”
“A solution.”
“To what?”
“Your confusion.”
Sophia placed the check down.
Vanessa buttered toast.
“Take it. Pay Dante. Leave.”
Sophia laughed.
“You're serious.”
“Completely.”
“You think I'm here because I owe him money?”
“I think people like you rarely enter houses like this without wanting something.”
Sophia leaned forward.
“And people like you?”
Vanessa's knife stopped.
“What about us?”
“You enter houses like this believing everything inside already belongs to you.”
Vanessa's eyes hardened.
“You have no idea who you're speaking to.”
“I know exactly who I'm speaking to. That's why I'm surprised you needed a check.”
Sophia pushed it back.
Vanessa didn't touch it.
“You think Dante cares about you.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't need to.”
Sophia stood.
Vanessa's voice followed.
“He has buried people he loved.”
Sophia turned.
For the first time, Vanessa wasn't smiling.
“You see the man who brings his mother tea. I know the man who survives.”
Sophia's anger weakened.
Vanessa rose.
“I've known Dante since we were children. Our families have spent years arranging a future neither of us was stupid enough to call romantic. Then you arrive with soup and a sad story.”
“Pastina.”
“What?”
“It was pastina.”
Vanessa stared.
Sophia shrugged.
“If you're going to hate me, get the details right.”
She left.
Vanessa remained at the table.
Despite herself, she almost laughed.
Almost.
Two days later, Sophia's father called.
She ignored him.
He called again.
And again.
Finally she answered.
“What?”
“Sophie.”
She hated when he used that name.
“I need help.”
“No.”
“You don't even know—”
“I know exactly what this is.”
“They're threatening me.”
“Who?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“Some guys.”
Her stomach tightened.
“I thought Dante handled Romano.”
“Not Romano.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
“You borrowed again?”
“I had a system.”
“A system?”
“I was going to win enough to fix everything.”
“You used my name last time.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“No. You said you were unlucky.”
He started crying.
Sophia hated that too because it still worked.
“Where are you?”
He gave her an address in Queens.
Sophia grabbed her coat.
At the bottom of the stairs, Dante appeared.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Where?”
“I'm twenty-four.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“My father called.”
Dante's expression changed.
“Enzo will drive.”
“No.”
“Sophia.”
“No guards.”
“He's in trouble.”
“He is always in trouble.”
“Which is exactly why—”
She stepped closer.
“You promised I could leave whenever I wanted.”
Dante went still.
Sophia waited.
Then he moved aside.
“Fine.”
She walked past.
“Sophia.”
She stopped.
“Call me if you need me.”
She didn't answer.
In Queens, she found her father alone outside a closed betting shop.
No men.
No threats.
Nothing.
Anthony looked ashamed.
“Where are they?”
“Gone.”
“What?”
“They left.”
Sophia stared.
“Why did you call me?”
“I needed to see you.”
She stepped backward.
“You lied.”
“I knew you wouldn't come otherwise.”
“You're right.”
“Sophie—”
“No.”
She walked away.
Across the street, inside a parked sedan, a man photographed everything.
Sophia embracing her crying father.
Her father handing her an envelope she immediately shoved back into his hands.
Sophia leaving furious.
The photographs reached Vanessa the next morning.
But the photographer brought something else.
“Anthony Rossi has been asking questions about Moretti.”
Vanessa looked up.
“What kind?”
“Security schedules. Deliveries. Who comes and goes.”
“Why?”
“He owes someone.”
“Who?”
The investigator placed a photograph on her desk.
Vanessa recognized the man immediately.
Luca Ferrante.
A Moretti rival.
For several seconds she said nothing.
Then she looked at Sophia's photograph.
This could remove the waitress.
Cleanly.
All Vanessa had to do was give the truth a little help.
She picked up her phone.
“Find Anthony Rossi.”
“And then?”
May you like
Vanessa looked toward the engagement ring sitting unopened in its velvet box.
“Offer him a way out.”
