Chapter 8 - THE DEBT OF MARCUS ROSSI
The joy that had bloomed in the restaurant wilted and died in an instant.
Marcus Rossi strolled into the dining room like he already owned it. He didn’t have bodyguards. He didn’t need them. His reputation preceded him. Even as a housekeeper who tried to ignore the mafia gossip, I had heard the name Rossi. He was a loan shark from the North Side, a man who didn't deal in blood or territory, but in unpayable debts.
He stopped a few feet from the table, his eyes casually scanning the wooden crate, the ledger, and finally, Teresa.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Rossi said, offering a slight, mocking bow. “My condolences on your husband, even a decade late. He was a brilliant businessman. But a terrible gambler.”
Luca stepped forward, blocking Rossi’s view of his mother.
“My father didn’t gamble,” Luca said coldly.
“Not with cards, no,” Rossi chuckled, adjusting his expensive silk tie. “He gambled with time. Twenty-five years ago, right after the hit that took your brother, your father needed cash to pay off the dirty cops who covered it up. Don Roberto wouldn’t give it to him. So, he came to me.”
Rossi reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded, notarized document. He tossed it onto the table next to the letters.
“A loan of five hundred thousand dollars,” Rossi said. “With an interest rate that has been compounding silently in the shadows for two and a half decades. The total debt is now just over four million dollars.”
Luca stared at the document. He didn’t need to read it. He knew a legitimate contract when he saw one.
“I have money, Rossi,” Luca said flatly. “I’ll write you a check right now. Send the wire transfer in the morning.”
Rossi laughed. It was a dry, scraping sound.
“I don’t want your money, Luca. I’m swimming in money. What I want is prime real estate in Taylor Street territory. This building is perfectly zoned, perfectly placed, and entirely off Don Roberto’s radar.”
Rossi pointed at the floorboards.
“I’m going to gut this pathetic little pasta joint and turn it into a high-stakes underground card room. The deed transfer was built into the loan agreement. If the debt wasn't paid upon your father’s death, the building defaults to me.”
Teresa let out a sharp gasp. “You cannot take this place! It is our home!”
Rossi’s smile vanished. His eyes turned flat and dead.
“It’s brick and mortar, old woman. And as of midnight tonight, it’s mine. You have until tomorrow afternoon to clear out your pots and pans.”
Luca’s fists clenched at his sides. The veins in his neck strained against his collar. He had just bought his freedom from the mafia, but now a vulture was swooping in to steal the only piece of his father’s legacy that actually mattered.
“You’re not touching this restaurant,” Luca growled, taking a step toward Rossi.
Rossi didn’t flinch. He just tapped his chest, right over his heart.
“You’re legitimate now, Luca,” Rossi sneered. “You can’t just shoot me in the alley anymore. You play by the rules of the civilized world now. And in the civilized world, paper beats bullets. The contract is ironclad.”
Luca froze. Rossi was right. If Luca killed him, it would bring the police, the FBI, and the wrath of the entire commission raining down on his new legitimate life. He would lose everything.
Rossi turned to leave, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Have your things packed by noon, Luca. I’ll send my contractors at—”
“Wait.”
The word left my mouth before I could stop it.
Every head in the room snapped toward me. Luca looked shocked. Teresa looked terrified. Enzo just stared.
Rossi paused, looking over his shoulder with an amused expression. He looked me up and down, taking in my cheap coat and trembling hands.
“And who are you, sweetheart? The waitress?”
I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
I walked past Luca. I walked right up to the table where the leather-bound ledger still sat.
“My name is Hannah Collins,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Rossi’s amused smile froze. A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch pulled at the corner of his eye.
“Collins,” Rossi repeated softly.
“You said you deal in debts, Mr. Rossi,” I said, opening the heavy leather ledger. I frantically flipped through the pages, going back past the recent hospital bills, back into the middle years, back to a very specific section my eyes had skimmed over earlier.
I found the page.
I pressed my finger onto the paper.
“You loan money,” I said, looking up at him. “But it seems you also borrow it.”
Rossi took a step back, his face suddenly turning pale. “What are you doing, girl?”
“When my mother’s medical bills spiked fifteen years ago,” I read aloud, tracing the faded ink, “Luca’s father didn’t have the cash. The ledger says he called in a favor to pay for her spinal fusion. He called in a favor from a man whose life he saved during a raid in 1998.”
I looked Rossi dead in the eye.
“He called you, Marcus. He asked you for the money to save Sarah Collins.”
Rossi said nothing. He just stared at me.
“And the ledger says,” I continued, my voice gaining strength, “that you refused.”
Luca looked at the book, his eyes widening as he read the entry over my shoulder.
“He refused,” Luca whispered. “And to get the money to save your mom, my father had to forfeit the deed to his own house.”
“Yes,” I said. I slammed the ledger shut. The sound cracked like a whip. “You owe a debt to the Moretti family, Mr. Rossi. A life debt. Because you abandoned a man who saved you, and you forced him to sacrifice his own home to save my mother.”
Rossi clenched his jaw. “That’s ancient history. It doesn’t hold up in a courtroom.”
“Maybe not,” I said, stepping closer to the dangerous loan shark. “But you don’t live in a courtroom, do you? You live on the street. And on the street, if word gets out that Marcus Rossi ignores a life debt to a man who saved him… who is going to trust your contracts?”
Rossi’s eyes burned with fury. He knew I had him boxed in. In his world, reputation was currency. If he was known as an oath-breaker, his empire would collapse.
“You are a very bold girl,” Rossi hissed.
He reached into his pocket.
Teresa screamed. Luca lunged forward to shield me.
But Rossi didn’t pull a gun.
He pulled out a silver Zippo lighter.
He picked up his notarized loan document from the table, sparked the lighter, and set the corner of the paper on fire.
He dropped the burning contract onto the floorboards and watched it turn to ash.
“The debt is settled,” Rossi spat. He pointed a finger at me. “But remember this, Hannah Collins. Smart girls who play in deep water usually end up drowning.”
He turned on his heel and walked out the door, disappearing into the night.
The silence returned, but this time, it was permanent.
Luca stared at the pile of ashes on the floor. Then, he slowly turned to look at me.
His eyes were filled with absolute awe.
“You just saved the restaurant,” Luca whispered.
I let out a shaky breath, my knees finally giving out. I collapsed into a chair, burying my face in my hands.
Teresa rushed over and wrapped her arms tightly around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head.
“She didn’t just save the restaurant, Luca,” Teresa said softly, tears of joy streaming down her face. “She saved our family.”
Luca walked over and knelt in front of my chair. He reached out and gently took my trembling hands in his.
“Hannah,” Luca said softly. “Look at me.”
I lifted my head.
“I told you I was going to help you rebuild this place,” Luca said. He smiled, a genuine, breathtaking smile. “But I think I was wrong. I think you’re going to help me.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the rusted iron key to the cellar.
But he didn’t put it away. He placed it in my palm and folded my fingers over it.
“It’s yours,” Luca said. “You’re part of this family now.”
For the first time in my life, I looked at the dark, decaying restaurant around me, and I didn’t see ghosts. I didn’t see mafia wars or bloodshed.
I saw a future.
But just as Luca stood up to help me out of the chair, Enzo cleared his throat near the front window.
“Luca,” Enzo said gently. “I think you should see this.”
Luca walked over to the window and looked out into the empty street.
Parked directly beneath the glowing streetlight across the road was a sleek, black town car. The engine was running. The windows were tinted dark.
And resting against the glass of the passenger side window, clearly meant for us to see, was a small, familiar object.
It was the child’s drawing of the broken bridge.
The same drawing Vanessa had tried to use against us.
The drawing of Matteo’s death.
The back door of the town car slowly opened, and a man stepped out onto the sidewalk. He wore a dark coat, his face obscured by the shadows of a fedora.
He didn’t move toward the restaurant. He just stood there, staring at the front door.
Teresa gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
“Dear God,” she whispered, her voice cracking with impossible terror and desperate hope. “That’s not possible.”
Luca pressed his hands against the glass, his breath fogging the window.
“Mom,” Luca said, his voice completely hollow. “Is that…?”
May you like
The man under the streetlight slowly reached up and removed his hat.
And the cliffhanger of the past twenty-five years finally fell away.
