Chapter 7 - THE TATTOO AND THE HOSPITAL ROOM
The ambulance sirens wailed into the night.
I rode in the back, holding Arthur’s frail hand. Matteo sat across from me, his eyes locked on the black crest tattooed on the old man’s chest.
The Vale Syndicate crest.
“He’s stable,” the paramedic said as we pulled into the emergency bay. “It was a severe angina attack, not a full cardiac arrest.”
As they wheeled Arthur away, Matteo pulled me into a quiet corridor.
“Did you know about the tattoo?” Matteo demanded, his voice thick with betrayal.
“No!” I said, my voice shaking. “I change his bedsheets, Mr. Moretti, I don’t dress him! Why would Arthur have Richard Vale’s crest on his chest?”
Matteo paced the linoleum floor. “Because maybe he didn’t just serve my father. Maybe he was Vale’s inside man for forty years.”
“That’s impossible,” I argued. “He just saved you! He gave you the leverage to ruin Richard!”
“Or he gave me a fake ledger to make me think I won,” Matteo countered.
He was right. We hadn’t checked the microfiche yet.
A nurse walked out of Arthur’s room. “He’s awake. He’s asking for Emma.”
Matteo pushed past her. I followed close behind.
Arthur lay on the white bed, looking older than his eighty-one years. The hospital gown left his chest exposed, the black tattoo stark against his pale skin.
Matteo stood at the foot of the bed. “Are you a traitor, Arthur? After fifty years?”
Arthur closed his eyes. A tear slipped down his wrinkled cheek.
“I was never a traitor, Matteo,” he whispered. “But I wasn’t always a servant, either.”
Arthur pointed to his coat, draped over a chair. “Emma, check the inside left pocket.”
I reached into the heavy wool coat. My fingers brushed a smooth, silver object.
I pulled it out.
It was a framed photograph, small enough to carry. It was in black and white.
It showed two young men standing in front of a brick building. One was Salvatore Moretti.
The other was Richard Vale.
But it was the woman standing between them that made my breath catch.
She was beautiful, smiling at the camera, holding a baby.
“Who is this?” I asked.
Arthur opened his eyes. “That’s Maria. Richard Vale’s sister.”
Matteo frowned. “Richard doesn’t have a sister.”
“He did,” Arthur said. “She was the love of my life.”
The reversal hit hard. Arthur wasn’t just a waiter.
“I was a Vale first,” Arthur confessed. “A foot soldier. Richard and I ran the streets. I fell in love with his sister, Maria. We had a child together.”
Matteo stepped forward. “Where are they?”
“Dead,” Arthur choked out. “Richard ordered a hit on a rival boss. The retaliation caught Maria in the crossfire. She died holding our son.”
I covered my mouth.
“I tried to kill Richard,” Arthur continued. “But your father, Salvatore, stopped me. He told me vengeance would only end in my own death. He offered me a job washing dishes. A way out of the mob. A clean life.”
Arthur looked at Matteo with pleading eyes.
“I kept the tattoo to remind myself never to go back to the darkness. And I kept your father’s ledger to ensure Richard Vale would one day pay for what he did.”
Matteo stared at the old man, the tension leaving his shoulders.
But before Matteo could speak, my cell phone rang.
I pulled it out. It was a restricted number.
I answered it. “Hello?”
A little girl’s voice came through the speaker. She sounded terrified.
“Are you Emma?” the child asked.
May you like
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name is Mia,” the six-year-old whispered. “A scary man came to the orphanage. He says my grandpa Richard sent him to pick me up.”
