REMOVE THAT EMPTY CHAIR! I'M NOT HAVING YOUR MOTHER SET A PLACE FOR A DEAD PERSON AT MY ENGAGEMENT DINNER!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 80-YEAR-OLD MOTHER IN FRONT OF 36 GUESTS—BUT WHEN THE OLD WOMAN WHISPERED, “I PROMISED HIM I'D KEEP HIS SEAT,” VINCENT ROMANO SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS GLASS. AND WHAT HIS MOTHER REVEALED NEXT MADE HIM STARE AT A MAN SITTING ACROSS THE TABLE
CHAPTER 1:
“Rose, I told you. Thirty-six guests. Not thirty-seven.”
Bianca stood beside the long mahogany dining table, staring at the empty chair beside eighty-year-old Rose Romano.
A white plate sat before it.
A folded blue napkin.
And a small piece of homemade apple pie.
Rose's trembling hands rested on the chair.
“It's just one place, sweetheart.”
Bianca laughed.
“One place for someone who isn't coming?”
Thirty-six guests watched beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Rose lowered her eyes.
“I know it looks silly.”
“Then stop doing it.”
Bianca reached for the plate.
Rose suddenly caught her wrist.
“Please. Don't take his pie.”
The room fell silent.
Bianca pulled away.
“Rose, this is an engagement dinner, not a memorial service!”
The old woman's eyes filled.
“I'm sorry.”
My name is Emily Parker. I'm twenty-seven, and I've worked at the Romano mansion for fourteen months.
My mother lives alone in Ohio.
Since Dad passed away, she still sets his coffee cup beside hers every morning.
So when I saw Rose protecting that empty chair, I understood.
Or at least I thought I did.
“Mrs. Romano isn't hurting anyone,” I said.
Bianca turned sharply.
“Emily, this doesn't concern you.”
“It's only one chair.”
Her smile disappeared.
“One more word, and you'll be looking for another job tomorrow.”
My stomach tightened.
I needed that paycheck.
My mother's medication wasn't cheap.
But then Rose reached for my hand.
“Don't lose your job for me, darling.”
She smiled sadly.
“I'm used to people leaving.”
Something inside me broke.
I gently pushed the chair back into place.
Bianca slammed her palm against the table.
“TAKE IT AWAY!”
A glass touched the table.
“Why?”
Vincent Romano had stopped speaking to his uncle.
Forty-three years old. Black suit. Dark eyes.
The most feared mafia boss in New York.
But when he looked at his mother, his expression softened.
“Mom?”
Rose tried to smile.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Vincent approached the empty chair.
“Who's sitting here?”
Bianca folded her arms.
“Your mother is having another emotional episode.”
Vincent ignored her.
He noticed the apple pie.
“Mom, did you make that?”
Rose nodded.
“His favorite.”
Vincent became still.
Then he looked at the chair.
“Nico?”
Rose's lips trembled.
Vincent slowly sat beside her.
“Mom, Nico's been gone for thirty-seven years.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“You don't have to keep setting his place.”
Rose began crying.
“But I promised.”
Vincent took her hand.
“Promised who?”
She looked toward the empty chair.
“Your brother.”
Silence.
Vincent swallowed.
“Mom, Nico drowned when I was six.”
Rose shook her head.
“No, sweetheart.”
He frowned.
“What?”
Her voice broke.
“Your father told you he drowned. That's not the same thing.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Bianca immediately stepped forward.
“Rose, you're confused. This isn't appropriate.”
But Vincent raised his hand.
“Let her speak.”
Rose wiped her tears.
“Your brother was ten when they took him.”
Vincent stared at her.
“Took him?”
She nodded.
“Your father owed dangerous men money.”
Her hands trembled.
“They said they'd return Nico when the debt was paid.”
Vincent's face went pale.
“Dad told me he died in the lake.”
Rose began sobbing.
“Because they threatened to take you next.”
Nobody moved.
Vincent gripped her hand.
“Mom, why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
She looked at the little piece of pie.
“Every birthday, I waited.”
Her voice cracked.
“Every Christmas, I waited.”
Then she whispered,
“I kept making his favorite pie because I couldn't bear the thought of him coming home hungry.”
Vincent covered his mouth.
For the first time in years, his eyes filled with tears.
“Mom…”
Rose touched his cheek.
“I never stopped looking for him.”
Then she reached into her cardigan.
And removed a faded photograph.
Two little boys stood beside a Christmas tree.
Vincent recognized himself immediately.
But the older boy wore something familiar.
A silver Saint Christopher medal.
Vincent frowned.
“Mom, where's that necklace now?”
Rose looked frightened.
“That's why I wanted the chair tonight.”
He froze.
“What do you mean?”
She slowly raised her trembling hand.
And pointed across the dining table.
Toward the distinguished gray-haired man sitting beside Bianca's father.
The man Bianca had introduced as her family's attorney.
Vincent followed her gaze.
The stranger was gripping his wineglass.
And around his neck, barely visible beneath his collar, hung a small silver medal.
Rose began crying harder.
“He came to my bedroom yesterday and told me to stop waiting.”
Vincent slowly stood.
The stranger pushed back his chair.
But Rose caught her son's sleeve.
“Vincent, please.”
He turned.
“What, Mom?”
Her voice trembled.
“He has the same scar on his left hand. The one Nico got when he pulled you away from the fireplace.”
Vincent stared at the man.
Then at Bianca.
Her face had turned white.
He stepped toward the stranger.
May you like
And asked the question that silenced the entire mansion.
“BIANCA, WHY DID YOU BRING MY BROTHER TO OUR ENGAGEMENT DINNER UNDER A FALSE NAME—AND WHY DID YOU TELL MY MOTHER HE WOULD DISAPPEAR AGAIN IF SHE TOLD ME WHO HE WAS?”
