Chapter 2 - The Name in the LedgerGerardo returned the next night.
Molly knew because the room changed before she saw him.
A bartender stopped polishing a glass. Two businessmen near the fireplace lowered their voices. The hostess straightened so quickly that the reservation book nearly slipped from her hands.
Then Gerardo walked through the door.
This time he came alone.
That frightened everyone more.
Molly was carrying a tray of champagne toward table twelve when the manager intercepted her.
“He asked for you.”
“Then he knows how restaurants work.”
“Molly.”
She stopped.
The manager’s face had gone pale.
“Please don’t be clever with him.”
“I’m never clever before ten.”
“This isn't funny.”
“No,” she said quietly. “It probably isn't.”
She delivered the champagne and walked toward Gerardo.
He had chosen the same booth.
No cognac waited on the table tonight. Instead there was a black leather folder.
“Sit.”
“I’m working.”
“I’ll compensate the restaurant.”
“You can compensate my landlord too, if you're feeling generous.”
Something almost resembling amusement moved through his eyes.
“Sit, Miss Warner.”
Her stomach tightened.
She had never told him her last name.
Molly remained standing.
“How do you know my name?”
Gerardo opened the folder.
Inside were photocopies.
Her birth certificate.
Employment records.
Her mother’s death certificate.
And a photograph of the burned house where her father had died.
For seventeen years, Molly had trained herself not to react when afraid.
That training nearly failed.
“Where did you get those?”
“I asked.”
“People usually need warrants for this kind of asking.”
“I’m not people.”
She stared at the photograph.
A little girl stood outside the burned house wrapped in a firefighter’s coat.
Molly remembered that coat.
She remembered smoke in her mouth.
She remembered her mother screaming James’s name.
Then she noticed something written across the bottom of the photograph.
ROMANI PROPERTY HOLDINGS.
Her breath stopped.
Gerardo watched her notice it.
“You knew my father?”
“I knew of him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
“Did your family kill him?”
Several diners glanced toward them.
Gerardo did not blink.
“If I had killed your father, I would tell you.”
“That’s supposed to comfort me?”
“No.”
Molly reached for the photograph.
Gerardo allowed her to take it.
She studied the date.
Then the property-company stamp.
“My father owed money.”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“No.”
“To who?”
“That is what I’m trying to determine.”
Molly laughed once, without humor.
“Seventeen years later?”
“Someone recently purchased your father’s debt.”
Her eyes rose.
“What?”
“The notices you've been receiving aren't from a legitimate collection agency.”
Molly went still.
Gerardo pushed a document toward her.
“They are looking for something.”
“I have nothing.”
“They believe you do.”
“Why?”
“Because James Warner stole from dangerous men shortly before he died.”
Molly felt anger rising through the fear.
“My father was a gambler. He borrowed money. That's all.”
“That is what your mother was told.”
“You don’t know anything about my mother.”
“I know she changed your surname three times. I know she moved whenever anyone connected to James found her. And I know she spent seventeen years making certain you never returned to your childhood neighborhood.”
Molly stared at him.
“You've been investigating me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Gerardo's expression changed.
Not softened.
Changed.
“Because someone inside my organization recognized you.”
The restaurant seemed to disappear.
“Who?”
“He is dead.”
Molly stepped backward.
Gerardo added, “Not because he recognized you.”
“Very reassuring.”
“He died six months ago.”
“Then how do you know?”
“He left records.”
Molly looked again at the photograph.
“What did he write?”
Gerardo hesitated.
That frightened her more than anything he had said.
“Your father’s name.”
“And?”
“A sentence.”
“What sentence?”
Gerardo looked directly into her eyes.
“The Warner girl survived.”
Molly felt the blood leave her face.
Not James Warner’s daughter.
Not Molly Warner.
The Warner girl survived.
As if someone had expected otherwise.
She folded the photograph.
“I need to go.”
Gerardo stood.
She instinctively stepped away.
His jaw tightened when he noticed.
“I will not hurt you.”
“You break people for looking at you wrong.”
“People exaggerate.”
“The bartender told me you once put a man through a window.”
“He had a gun.”
“Convenient detail.”
“It usually is.”
Despite herself, she almost smiled.
Almost.
Then a crash sounded near the entrance.
A man in a gray coat had shoved past the hostess.
His eyes found Molly.
He reached inside his jacket.
Gerardo moved before anyone else.
One second he was beside the booth.
The next, Molly was behind him.
Two of Gerardo’s security men appeared from nowhere.
The stranger was slammed against a wall.
Customers screamed.
Gerardo never looked away from Molly.
“Do you recognize him?”
She did.
He had stood outside her diner yesterday.
And the day before.
“No.”
Gerardo studied her.
Molly swallowed.
“I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
“Outside my morning job.”
The stranger began struggling.
“Tell Romani he can't bury this forever!”
Gerardo’s expression became ice.
“Take him downstairs.”
Molly grabbed Gerardo’s sleeve.
“No.”
Every person nearby froze.
Gerardo looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
“What?”
“You don't get to make him disappear before I get answers.”
“He came armed.”
“And he knows my name.”
“Molly—”
“No.”
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Gerardo raised one hand.
His men stopped.
“Bring him to my office,” he said.
The stranger laughed.
“You really don't know, do you, girl?”
Molly faced him.
“Know what?”
His smile revealed blood between his teeth.
“Ask Romani why his father visited your house the night it burned.”
Molly slowly turned.
Gerardo had gone completely still.
“My father,” he said, “was dead three months before your fire.”
The stranger's smile vanished.
Gerardo looked toward his lieutenant.
And Molly saw something new in his face.
Not anger.
Recognition.
May you like
Someone had lied about the past.
And Gerardo suddenly knew who.
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