Chapter 2 - The Envelope
Harper stared at him for three seconds.
Then she reached beneath the bar, grabbed the plain white envelope she had brought to work every night since Tuesday, and walked toward table 4.
Vincent watched her approach.
“No bodyguards tonight?”
“They're outside.”
“Comforting.”
She stopped beside him and placed the envelope on the table.
Vincent looked at it.
“What is that?”
“Your money.”
For the first time, Harper saw genuine surprise cross Vincent Rossi’s face.
It vanished almost immediately.
“I didn't loan you money.”
“I know.”
“Then it isn't mine.”
“It isn't mine either.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Most people don't return cash.”
“Most people probably aren't wondering what you expect in exchange.”
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
“You think I was buying you?”
“I don't know what you were buying.”
“Nothing.”
“Men don't leave $2,500 for nothing.”
Vincent looked toward the rain crawling down the restaurant windows.
“My mother waited tables.”
That was not the answer Harper expected.
He told her that Teresa Rossi had raised 2 sons in a cramped apartment after their father disappeared. She worked double shifts, came home smelling like coffee and fryer grease, and hid eviction notices beneath the sugar bowl.
When Vincent was 11, he once watched a wealthy customer leave his mother a $300 tip.
Teresa cried in the restaurant bathroom.
The money kept their electricity on.
“I remembered her when you told me not to order the veal,” Vincent said.
Harper's fingers loosened around her order pad.
“That might be the strangest compliment I've ever received.”
“Keep the money.”
“No.”
His eyes sharpened.
Harper pushed the envelope closer.
“I appreciate what you were trying to do. But I don't want to owe you.”
“You don't.”
“Then you won't mind taking it back.”
Vincent stared at her.
Harper stared back.
Finally, something almost resembling amusement entered his face.
“You're very difficult.”
“I've been called worse.”
“I don't doubt it.”
She picked up her pen.
“Are you eating?”
“Yes.”
“Ribeye?”
Vincent glanced toward the kitchen.
“Is Marco still angry at his wife?”
“Ex-wife now.”
“Then definitely the ribeye.”
Harper smiled despite herself.
That was the first mistake.
The second came 20 minutes later.
She was delivering Vincent's dinner when she noticed Simon near the service corridor.
He was talking to a man Harper had never seen before.
Gray suit. Expensive watch. Cold eyes.
Simon slipped something into the man's hand.
The stranger left through the kitchen exit.
Harper frowned.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You looked at Simon.”
Harper set down his plate.
“Maybe I was admiring his personality.”
“You don't like him.”
“Nobody likes Simon.”
Vincent cut into his steak.
Harper turned away.
His voice stopped her.
“Harper.”
She looked back.
It was the first time he had said her name.
“If you see something unusual in this restaurant, don't investigate it.”
She laughed softly.
“That's weirdly specific.”
“Take it seriously.”
For once, his expression contained no amusement.
Harper felt a chill.
Before she could ask why, a crash came from the kitchen.
Simon appeared seconds later.
“Harper! Storage room. Now.”
She rolled her eyes and followed him.
The moment the door closed behind them, Simon's pleasant manager mask disappeared.
“What did Rossi give you?”
“Heartburn.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
Simon moved closer.
“You returned the money?”
Harper stiffened.
She had told no one.
“How do you know?”
Simon realized his mistake.
His eyes flickered toward the door.
Harper saw it.
Suddenly Vincent's warning made sense.
“What exactly are you involved in, Simon?”
His face hardened.
“Go home.”
“My shift isn't over.”
“It is now.”
He grabbed her wrist.
Harper jerked away.
“Touch me again and you're losing fingers.”
Simon laughed nervously.
“You really think Rossi cares about you because he left a tip?”
“I think you're sweating in a refrigerated storage room.”
That silenced him.
Harper left.
She finished her tables, grabbed her coat, and walked outside shortly after midnight.
The rain had become heavier.
Her Honda waited beneath a broken streetlamp.
She was halfway across the parking lot when she heard footsteps.
Not Vincent's.
Faster.
Harper turned.
The gray-suited man from the restaurant was coming toward her.
“Miss Lane.”
She kept walking.
He caught up.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Restaurant's closed.”
“This isn't about food.”
His hand closed around her arm.
Harper drove her knee upward.
The man doubled over with a curse.
She ran.
A black SUV appeared from the street so suddenly its tires sprayed water across the pavement.
The rear door opened.
“Get in!”
Vincent.
Harper stopped.
Gray Suit was recovering behind her.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Harper!”
She made the calculation.
Stranger who had grabbed her.
Mafia boss who had tipped her $2,500.
Terrible choices apparently came in pairs.
Harper jumped into the SUV.
Vincent pulled her inside.
The vehicle accelerated.
She twisted around.
“What the hell is happening?”
Vincent stared through the rear window.
“You noticed something you weren't supposed to notice.”
“What?”
“Simon.”
Harper's stomach dropped.
Vincent turned toward her.
“The Brass Rail isn't just a restaurant.”
“I figured that out.”
“My brother uses it to move money.”
“Your brother?”
“Anthony.”
Harper remembered Vincent mentioning his mother had raised 2 sons.
“What does that have to do with Simon?”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“I've been trying to find out who's stealing from my organization.”
“And?”
“And tonight Simon told them you saw too much.”
Harper stared at him.
“Simon doesn't know what I saw.”
“That doesn't matter.”
The SUV turned sharply.
Vincent reached inside his coat.
Harper recoiled.
He removed his phone.
“You're safe.”
She laughed once.
“You're a mob boss who just kidnapped me.”
“Rescued.”
“Very thin distinction.”
His mouth almost moved.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Harper could hear only fragments.
A warehouse.
Anthony.
Missing records.
Then Vincent became completely still.
“What do you mean they found her room?”
Harper's blood turned cold.
Vincent looked at her.
“Who?”
He listened.
Then he ended the call.
“Harper.”
She hated the tone of his voice.
“What?”
“Your apartment was broken into twenty minutes ago.”
Her breath caught.
Then she remembered the shoebox.
The returned cash had been inside her work locker earlier.
Nothing important was at home.
Except—
Her face drained.
“My mother's address.”
Vincent's expression changed.
Harper grabbed his sleeve.
“My nursing-home paperwork is in my apartment.”
Vincent immediately called someone.
“Send men to St. Catherine's. Now.”
Harper's heart hammered.
The SUV accelerated.
She stared through the rain-streaked window.
For three years, table 4 had been nothing more than the worst table in her section.
Now someone had entered her home.
Someone knew where her mother lived.
May you like
And the most frightening part was not that Vincent Rossi was sitting beside her.
It was that, at that moment, he was the only person Harper trusted to get her mother out alive.
