Chapter 2 - A Debt Nobody Paid
“Let go of her.”
Mateo’s voice stayed quiet.
His father obeyed.
I set the pitcher down before I dropped it.
The silver-haired man came around the table, smiling like somebody approaching a frightened animal.
“Uncle, you’re tired.”
“Sit down, Carlo.”
Salvatore never looked at him.
Mateo pulled out a chair for me.
My manager, Paul Mercer, hurried forward.
“She has other tables to prepare.”
“The restaurant is closed,” Mateo said.
Paul stopped.
I remained standing.
“What’s going on?”
Salvatore pressed both palms against the table.
“In 1968, your great-grandmother carried me out of a burning house in Sicily.”
I stared at him.
Rosalia had hated the smell of smoke.
Even birthday candles upset her.
“She burned her hands opening a window,” he continued.
“She wrapped me in a wet tablecloth.”
I remembered the shiny scars across her fingers.
She’d told me they came from a stove.
“Her husband died that night,” Salvatore said.
“Pietro.”
That name I knew.
Rosalia kept his photograph inside her prayer book.
“You knew him?”
“He kept my father’s accounts.”
Carlo shifted behind my chair.
Salvatore noticed.
“In 1998, I established a restitution fund for Rosalia and her descendants.”
I laughed once, sharply.
Nobody joined me.
“My mother cleaned offices until her fingers split.”
His face drained.
“My grandmother died with medical bills we couldn’t pay.”
“Tessa,” Mateo said gently.
“No.”
I turned back to Salvatore.
“If this is a joke, find someone who can afford it.”
Carlo held up a hand.
“Payments were handled through the family office.
There must be a clerical problem.”
“How much?” I asked.
He blinked.
“The fund,” I said.
“How much?”
“Two million dollars originally,” Salvatore answered.
My knees went weak.
Two million.
My mother had worked double shifts for a car with bald tires.
After she died, I’d spent six years stretching grocery money into tuition.
Mateo guided the chair beneath me without touching my shoulders.
“When did your mother die?” he asked.
“Eight years ago.
A car accident.”
Carlo’s smile vanished for half a second.
Then he said, “Elena was always unfortunate.”
I looked up.
May you like
The table went still again.
“I never told you my mother’s name.”
