Chapter 4 - THE DEBT PAID IN BLOOD
The cold air of the cellar seemed to freeze in my lungs.
I stared at the leather-bound ledger in Luca’s hands, illuminated by the harsh beam of the flashlight.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” I stammered, stepping back. My heel hit the bottom wooden stair. “My mother has never been to this restaurant. She doesn’t know your family.”
Luca turned the book around so I could see it.
The handwriting was meticulous, recorded in dark blue ink.
October 14th. Mercy General Hospital. Patient: Sarah Collins. $4,200. Paid in full.
My knees went weak.
That was the exact date of my mother’s last surgery. The hospital had called me a week later to say an “anonymous donor” had covered the remaining balance of her operation. I had cried for hours, believing it was a miracle from a charity organization.
“She’s been receiving payments for twenty-five years,” Luca said, tracing his finger up the page. “Every medical bill. Every prescription. Every time she was admitted to the hospital, this account paid for it.”
Teresa stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for the ledger.
“Let me see,” she whispered in English.
Luca lowered the book. Teresa squinted at the name Sarah Collins.
Then she looked up at me. Her dark eyes searched my face, scanning my cheekbones, the shape of my jaw, the color of my hair.
“Sarah,” Teresa murmured.
Suddenly, the old woman reached out and gently pulled on the delicate silver chain around my neck.
I gasped softly as she pulled a small, round silver locket from beneath my blouse. I had worn it every day since I was a teenager.
Teresa pressed her thumb against the clasp and popped it open.
Inside was a faded photograph of a young woman smiling. My mother, before the illness took her strength.
Teresa let go of the locket and covered her mouth, a choked sob escaping her throat.
“Dio mio,” she wept. “È lei. È l'angelo.”
My God. It’s her. It’s the angel.
Luca quickly put his arm around his mother to steady her. “Mom? What are you talking about? Do you know Hannah’s mother?”
Teresa nodded, tears spilling down her face.
She turned to Luca, her voice trembling but fierce.
“I told you your father kept that table upstairs for the person who saved our family.”
Luca’s eyes widened. “Hannah’s mother?”
“Twenty-five years ago,” Enzo said, speaking up from the shadows near the stairs. His voice was heavy with sorrow. “There was a hit put out on your family, Luca. A rival crew wanted the territory. They came to the restaurant on a Sunday afternoon. They were looking for you and your brother, Matteo.”
Luca stiffened. The mention of his older brother always made him shut down.
“I was five,” Luca whispered. “I remember the noise. The glass breaking.”
“Your mother and father were trapped in the kitchen,” Enzo continued. “But you and Matteo were out in the dining room, doing your homework at that corner table.”
Enzo pointed a weathered finger at me.
“Your mother, Hannah… she was our newest waitress. She had only been working here for two weeks.”
My mind spun. My mother had always told me she worked in retail before she got sick. She never mentioned a restaurant. She never mentioned the Moretti family.
“When the shooting started,” Teresa cried, “we couldn’t get to you. The men came through the front door with guns. But Sarah… sweet, brave Sarah. She didn’t run out the back.”
Teresa grabbed my hands, squeezing them so hard it hurt.
“She threw herself over you and Matteo. She pushed you both under the heavy wooden table and covered you with her own body.”
I felt a tear slide down my cheek. “My mom?”
“She took a bullet to the spine,” Enzo said quietly. “That’s why she’s been in and out of hospitals your entire life, Hannah. That’s why she can barely walk now. She took the bullet meant for the Moretti boys.”
Luca stared at me, his expression entirely shattered.
The mafia boss—the cold, calculating man I had served coffee to every morning for eleven months—looked like he was about to drop to his knees.
“She saved my life,” Luca whispered.
“Yes,” Teresa said. “And your father swore a blood oath that day. He swore that Sarah Collins and her family would never want for anything. That her medical bills would be paid until the day she died. He kept the ledger a secret because he knew if our enemies found out she survived, they would finish the job.”
I was trembling violently now.
“But… but Matteo died anyway,” I whispered, remembering the tragic story the staff always gossiped about.
Teresa’s face darkened with a sudden, terrifying rage.
She reached into the lockbox and pulled out a faded, folded piece of paper that was tucked beneath the ledger.
She shoved it into Luca’s hands.
“Look at it,” she commanded.
Luca unfolded the paper. It was a child’s drawing in blue crayon. It showed a crooked bridge, a small stick figure falling, and a dark car driving away.
“Matteo didn’t die in the restaurant,” Teresa said, her voice dropping to a vicious hiss. “He survived the shooting. But two days later, the man who swore to protect him took him for a drive. He said he was taking Matteo to a safe house.”
Luca looked at the drawing, his breath hitching.
“Arthur Bellini,” Luca realized.
“He sold us out,” Enzo confirmed from the dark. “Bellini orchestrated the hit. When Sarah saved you, he had to finish the job himself to prove his loyalty to the rivals. He threw Matteo off the bridge and claimed it was an ambush.”
Luca crushed the drawing in his fist, his eyes burning with a murderous rage.
Suddenly, a loud, echoing crash came from the restaurant floor above us.
Wood splintered. Glass shattered.
“Well, well,” a sharp, mocking voice echoed down the cellar stairs.
May you like
Vanessa’s silhouette appeared at the top of the steps, a gun gleaming in her hand. Behind her stood three massive men holding crowbars.
“I was hoping you’d open the box for me, Luca,” Vanessa smiled. “Now, bring the ledger up here, or I’ll bury all three of you under the floorboards.”
