Chapter 2 - THE SCREAM BENEATH BELLINI’S
The scream came from below the kitchen.
Not the wine cellar.
Not the storage room.
Lower.
Salvatore Moretti stood so quickly his chair struck the wall behind him.
Every man at the table knew there was only one room beneath Bellini’s basement.
And officially, it did not exist.
Paul DeLuca took one step toward the side door.
Two men blocked him.
“Don’t,” Salvatore said.
Paul looked at him.
“You have no idea what’s happening.”
Salvatore opened his hand.
Isabella’s broken silver bracelet lay across his palm.
“I know enough to keep you in this room.”
Another sound came from downstairs.
Not a scream this time.
A crash.
Emily grabbed the edge of Salvatore’s jacket.
“My mom.”
He looked down.
“You think she’s down there?”
Emily’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
That answer frightened him more.
Salvatore turned toward his nephew, Anthony Russo.
“Stay with her.”
Emily immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Salvatore paused.
“I’m going downstairs.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
“My mom is missing.”
His expression hardened instinctively.
Emily did not move.
Salvatore had watched grown men apologize because he looked at them too long.
This nine-year-old stared straight back.
“My mom came for your family,” she whispered. “You can go for mine.”
Something in Salvatore’s face changed.
Anthony quietly said, “I’ll keep her behind us.”
Salvatore considered it.
Then nodded once.
“Behind.”
Emily obeyed.
That was the difference between courage and foolishness.
She knew when rules mattered.
Three men moved toward the kitchen.
Salvatore followed.
Behind them came Emily and Anthony.
Paul remained upstairs under guard.
The restaurant staff had been cleared into the front dining room.
Every exterior door was locked.
Outside, rain hit the windows hard enough to sound like gravel.
Salvatore crossed the kitchen.
Rachel’s station was empty.
Her order pad lay beside the espresso machine.
A half-finished glass of water sat near the service counter.
Ordinary things.
That bothered him.
He opened the basement door.
The stairs descended into darkness.
“Lights.”
Nothing.
Someone had cut power below.
Anthony activated the flashlight on his phone.
The first basement level looked untouched.
Boxes.
Wine racks.
Restaurant supplies.
Then Salvatore saw the steel door at the far end.
Open.
That door was never supposed to be open.
He had ordered it sealed years earlier.
After his wife died.
After certain parts of the business were moved away from Bellini’s permanently.
Salvatore approached.
The lock had been replaced.
Recently.
He touched the metal.
Cold.
Emily whispered:
“Mom went through there.”
Salvatore turned.
“How do you know?”
“She had dirt on her coat last week.”
He frowned.
“What dirt?”
“White dust.”
Emily pointed at the concrete wall.
The same chalky residue lined the doorway.
Salvatore looked at Anthony.
“Did you know this was being used?”
Anthony’s face tightened.
“No.”
Salvatore believed him.
Mostly.
That was the problem with betrayal.
Once it entered a room, trust became something you measured instead of felt.
They descended another staircase.
A light flickered below.
Then Salvatore heard breathing.
Someone was on the floor.
Anthony moved first.
“Wait.”
Salvatore ignored him.
He reached the bottom.
A man lay beside an overturned chair.
His wrists had been tied.
Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow, but he was conscious.
Salvatore stopped.
His son looked up.
“Dad?”
Vincent Moretti was thirty-six years old.
Tall.
Usually immaculate.
Now his shirt was torn at the shoulder, one shoe missing, face pale.
Salvatore crossed the room.
“Who did this?”
Vincent stared past him.
Then saw Emily.
His expression changed.
“Why is she here?”
Emily whispered:
“Where’s my mom?”
Vincent said nothing.
Salvatore cut the restraints.
“Answer her.”
Vincent rubbed his wrists.
“She was here.”
Emily stepped forward.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Salvatore grabbed his son’s shoulder.
Not violently.
Firmly.
“What happened?”
Vincent looked toward the staircase.
“Paul.”
Salvatore went still.
“Paul brought you here?”
Vincent nodded.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked at Emily again.
“That’s complicated.”
Salvatore’s voice became colder.
“Make it simple.”
Vincent exhaled.
“Rachel found records.”
“What records?”
“Payments.”
Salvatore waited.
Vincent continued.
“Money moving through Bellini’s vendors. Fake invoices. Cash pickups.”
Salvatore’s jaw tightened.
He had cleaned the restaurant’s legitimate books years ago.
Bellini’s was supposed to be exactly what it appeared to be.
A restaurant.
Nothing more.
“Paul?”
“Paul and somebody else.”
“Who?”
Vincent looked away.
Salvatore saw fear.
His own son was afraid to say the name.
That rarely happened.
Then Emily moved closer.
“My mom found Isabella’s bracelet too.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Salvatore stared.
“What happened to Isabella?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
Salvatore’s voice dropped.
“What happened to my granddaughter?”
Vincent finally looked at him.
“She saw something.”
Six weeks earlier.
Isabella’s birthday.
Family dinner upstairs.
Children running through the restaurant.
Everyone distracted.
Vincent told it slowly.
Isabella had followed her father downstairs after seeing him enter the kitchen corridor with Paul.
She had heard them arguing.
Paul was pressuring Vincent to sign off on a series of new vendor contracts.
Vincent had refused.
Isabella wandered through the basement door while looking for him.
Paul found her.
“She heard names.”
Salvatore’s face became stone.
“What did he do to her?”
“Nothing like what you’re thinking.”
“That is not an answer.”
“He locked her in the old room.”
Emily’s hand went to her mouth.
Vincent continued.
“Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”
“Forty-three.”
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
“My granddaughter was missing forty-three minutes.”
Salvatore’s voice shook for the first time.
“You knew?”
Vincent’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Anthony cursed under his breath.
Salvatore stared at his son as if seeing him for the first time.
“You let me believe she chased a cat.”
“I was trying to protect her.”
“You made her lie.”
“Paul threatened—”
“YOU MADE HER LIE.”
The shout echoed off concrete.
Emily flinched.
Salvatore saw it.
He closed his mouth.
Lowered his voice.
Vincent swallowed.
“Paul said if Isabella told anyone, the people behind him would know she heard everything.”
Salvatore froze.
“Behind him?”
Vincent nodded.
“He isn’t running this alone.”
“Who is?”
Vincent hesitated.
Then a phone began ringing.
Not Salvatore’s.
Not Anthony’s.
The sound came from a metal cabinet in the corner.
Emily ran toward it.
“My mom’s ringtone.”
Salvatore opened the cabinet.
Rachel’s purse.
Wallet.
Keys.
Phone.
The screen showed an incoming call.
UNKNOWN.
Salvatore answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a woman breathed into the line.
Salvatore held it closer.
“Rachel?”
A whisper.
“Yes.”
Emily made a sound.
“Mom!”
Rachel’s breath hitched.
“Emily?”
“I’m here.”
“Baby, listen to me—”
The call crackled.
Salvatore took the phone.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Then Rachel whispered:
“I don’t know.”
“Who has you?”
Another silence.
“Paul didn’t do this alone.”
Salvatore looked at Vincent.
“Who?”
Rachel’s voice shook.
“I heard them talking.”
“Name.”
The line crackled again.
Then she said:
“Your son knows.”
Salvatore’s eyes moved toward Vincent.
Vincent went pale.
Rachel continued:
“Ask him who paid Paul.”
The call disconnected.
Nobody moved.
Salvatore lowered the phone.
Emily stared at Vincent.
“Where’s my mom?”
Vincent looked sick.
Salvatore stepped toward his son.
“Who paid Paul?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Then whispered:
“My uncle.”
Salvatore stopped.
Anthony stared.
“Which uncle?”
Vincent opened his eyes.
Salvatore already knew.
There was only one man in the Moretti family nobody called by his first name when they were afraid.
His younger brother.
Domenico.
Salvatore’s voice became barely audible.
“Where is he?”
Vincent answered:
“He’s supposed to be in Sicily.”
Salvatore looked toward the ceiling.
Then the phone in his hand buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
Rachel.
Sitting in the back seat of a car.
Alive.
Terrified.
Beside her was a handwritten note.
BRING VINCENT TO PIER 14.
NO POLICE.
NO ARMED MEN.
MIDNIGHT.
Salvatore checked the time.
9:06 p.m.
Then another message arrived.
This time, a picture of Isabella leaving school that afternoon.
Taken from across the street.
Under it:
THE WAITRESS IS ONLY THE FIRST MOTHER WHO CAN LOSE A CHILD TONIGHT.
Salvatore stared at the screen.
For the first time in decades, the mafia boss did not think about revenge.
May you like
He thought about getting every child in his family behind a locked door.
And getting Rachel Carter home alive.
