Chapter 2 - The Man Who Came Back
At 9:17 the following morning, Alessandro Romano returned to Rosie’s Diner.
Alone.
That frightened me more than the bodyguards had.
I was carrying two plates of eggs when the bell above the entrance jingled. I glanced up automatically and nearly dropped both plates.
No charcoal overcoat this time.
No Victor.
No armed men pretending not to be armed.
Alessandro wore a dark sweater beneath a black jacket, and somehow the absence of the expensive suit made him look more dangerous.
More human, too.
I hated noticing that.
Rosa appeared beside me.
“Your boyfriend is back.”
“He threw a coffee cup at a wall.”
“Every romance needs a beginning.”
“Rosa.”
She shrugged.
“I married twice. Obviously, I am an expert in bad decisions.”
Alessandro chose the same booth.
I waited three full minutes before approaching him.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“You planning to drink this one?”
His gaze lifted.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I poured.
He watched me place the cup down.
“What’s your name?”
“You threatened an entire diner without learning the waitress’s name?”
“I wasn't threatening the diner.”
“You threw a cup.”
“I was angry.”
“So are toddlers.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
“Your name.”
“Claire Bennett.”
He repeated it quietly.
“Claire.”
Something about hearing my name in his voice made me uncomfortable.
“What do you want, Mr. Romano?”
“Breakfast.”
“No. You came across town to a diner where everyone is afraid of you. You could have eaten anywhere.”
He picked up the coffee.
“I wanted to know whether last night was an accident.”
“What was?”
“You.”
I stared at him.
He drank.
No sugar.
No cream.
“You came back to determine whether I’m consistently irritating?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I haven't decided.”
I turned away.
His voice stopped me.
“Your mother has pulmonary fibrosis.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
Slowly, I faced him.
“What did you say?”
“Your mother. Evelyn Bennett. Fifty-nine. Pulmonary fibrosis.”
The coffee pot shook slightly in my hand.
“How do you know that?”
His expression changed.
He must have seen the fear.
“I had someone look into you.”
“You investigated me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you knew who I was and still challenged me.”
I put the coffee pot down before I threw it.
“You don't get to investigate my family because I made you pay for a cup.”
“I wanted to know whether someone sent you.”
“Sent me to do what? Serve pancakes aggressively?”
That almost-smile appeared again.
Then disappeared.
“I have enemies, Claire.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because someone followed you home last night.”
My anger vanished.
Alessandro reached into his jacket.
I stepped backward.
He stopped immediately, then slowly placed a photograph on the table.
It showed me entering my apartment building.
Across the street stood a man in a baseball cap.
Another photograph showed the same man outside the hospital three days earlier.
My stomach tightened.
“I don't know him.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I do.”
That answer was terrifyingly inadequate.
“Who is he?”
“Someone connected to Dominic Vale.”
I knew that name too.
Vale Construction owned half the redevelopment projects on the south side.
The newspapers called Dominic Vale a businessman.
People who lived where I lived called him something else.
“Why would he follow me?”
Alessandro looked toward the window.
“That is what I intend to find out.”
I folded my arms.
“And why do you care?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Because he started following you after last night.”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“So congratulations. Knowing you has made my life worse in under twelve hours.”
“Yes.”
The immediate answer surprised me.
No excuse.
No denial.
Just yes.
He pulled a card from his pocket.
“No name. No company. Just a number.”
“I don't want it.”
“Take it.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
I pointed toward him.
“There. That face. That's the face you make right before you start ordering people around.”
“Claire—”
“I already have a sick mother, overdue bills, and a landlord who thinks maintenance means putting a bucket under a leaking pipe. I do not need organized crime added to my schedule.”
A man at the counter choked on his coffee.
Alessandro stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
Not loudly.
Just once.
But the entire diner turned.
Apparently, Alessandro Romano laughing was more alarming than Alessandro Romano shouting.
He left the card anyway.
I threw it away.
At 2:06 that afternoon, my phone rang.
The hospital.
I answered before the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Bennett?”
The nurse sounded strained.
My blood went cold.
“What happened?”
“Your mother experienced respiratory distress. She's stable now, but Dr. Patel needs to speak with you.”
I untied my apron while she was still talking.
Rosa took one look at my face.
“Go.”
I ran.
At the hospital, Dr. Patel explained that my mother needed a medication her insurance had denied twice.
The words became numbers.
Treatment.
Specialist.
Appeal.
Four thousand eight hundred dollars.
I sat beside my mother's bed afterward.
She was sleeping beneath a thin blanket.
I held her hand.
For the first time in months, I cried.
Quietly.
Angrily.
Then a nurse entered.
“Ms. Bennett?”
I wiped my face.
“Yes?”
“There's been a change concerning your mother's medication.”
My heart jumped.
“What change?”
“The first six months have been covered.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“An anonymous charitable foundation approved emergency assistance.”
I already knew.
I didn't know how.
But I knew.
Twenty minutes later, I dug Alessandro's card from the trash behind Rosie’s Diner.
I called the number.
He answered immediately.
“You paid for my mother's medication.”
Silence.
“Alessandro.”
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“I didn't ask you to.”
“I know.”
“I can't repay you.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But your mother gets to breathe.”
I had no answer.
Then I heard something behind him.
A door.
A man's voice.
And suddenly Alessandro said, “Victor, wait.”
The line went muffled.
Another voice spoke.
“Vale's man wasn't following Claire because of you.”
My heart stopped.
Alessandro's voice became deadly calm.
“Then why?”
The answer came clearly enough for me to hear.
“Because of her mother.”
I gripped the phone.
“What does Dominic Vale want with my mother?”
Silence.
Then Alessandro returned to the call.
“Claire.”
“What does he want?”
A pause.
“When did your father die?”
I frowned.
“Seventeen years ago.”
“No,” Alessandro said.
May you like
My skin went cold.
“He didn't.”
