Chapter 2 - The Woman at Our Table
“THAT WOMAN DOESN'T BELONG AT OUR TABLE!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED ME FOR SERVING DINNER TO A 72-YEAR-OLD COOK AT HIS FAMILY'S LUXURY RESTAURANT—BUT WHEN LUCA RECOGNIZED THE WOMAN STANDING BESIDE ME, HE RAN ACROSS THE ROOM WITH TEARS IN HIS EYES. THEN SHE REVEALED WHY VANESSA HAD ORDERED HER OUT BEFORE THE WEDDING.
“Take that plate away, Grace.”
Vanessa Bellini stood beside the long dining table in her fitted red silk gown.
Twenty-eight guests watched as she pointed toward the elderly woman sitting beside me.
“Mrs. Bellini, she's been working here all afternoon.”
“I don't care. She's kitchen staff, not a guest.”
The old woman's face turned pink.
“It's all right, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I can eat downstairs.”
But I couldn't move.
Because I'd watched seventy-two-year-old Rosa Romano stand over a hot stove for six hours, preparing dinner for people who hadn't even bothered to learn her name.
And now Vanessa wouldn't let her have a plate.
“Grace!”
Vanessa snapped her fingers.
“I'm not going to ask again.”
My name is Grace Miller.
I'm twenty-six years old, and I've worked as a housemaid for the Moretti family for ten months.
Tonight, I'd been assigned to help serve Luca Moretti's engagement dinner.
Not at his mansion.
At Moretti's, the elegant Italian restaurant his family had owned in downtown Chicago for nearly fifty years.
The private dining room was beautiful.
Dark walnut walls.
Burgundy velvet curtains.
Warm crystal chandeliers hanging above a long white-linen table.
Old black-and-white family photographs lined the walls.
And behind the swinging kitchen doors was Mrs. Romano.
A widow.
A mother of four.
And the woman who'd been making the restaurant's famous Sunday gravy since 1978.
She'd told me something that afternoon.
“Grace, my husband and I couldn't afford a honeymoon. We worked the dinner shift here the day after our wedding.”
She'd laughed softly.
“Forty-five years together. And I still miss that stubborn man every morning.”
I'd smiled.
Then she'd handed me a small plate of ravioli.
“Eat, honey. You've been on your feet all day.”
Nobody had shown me that kind of kindness since I started working for Vanessa.
So when I saw Mrs. Romano sitting alone in the kitchen while everyone else celebrated, I brought her upstairs.
I thought Luca would be pleased.
I was wrong about Vanessa.
“Mrs. Romano,” she said loudly, “you've already been paid for your work. Surely you don't expect to eat with the family.”
Rosa slowly put down her fork.
“No, ma'am.”
“Then leave.”
I stepped forward.
“Please, Mrs. Bellini. She hasn't eaten since breakfast.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“Then perhaps you can both find jobs at a diner where nobody cares about appearances.”
My stomach tightened.
She reached for Rosa's plate.
But before she could take it, I gently moved it away.
“Please don't embarrass her.”
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
“Grace, you're fired.”
Rosa immediately stood.
“No, ma'am. Please don't fire the girl because of me.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Then perhaps you should teach her to respect her employers.”
And that was when a man's voice interrupted.
“Who's being fired?”
Luca Moretti stood beneath the dining room archway.
Thirty-six years old.
Dark swept-back hair.
Black three-piece suit.
Visible tattoos along his neck and hands.
His eyes moved from Vanessa to me.
Then to Rosa.
He stopped.
“Rosie?”
The elderly woman looked up.
“Luca?”
He crossed the room so quickly that two guests pushed back their chairs.
“Oh, my God.”
His voice broke.
He wrapped his arms around her.
And held her tightly.
“Rosie, where have you been?”
The old woman began crying.
“I've been right here, sweetheart.”
Luca pulled away.
His own eyes were wet.
“You weren't at my father's funeral. I tried to find you.”
Rosa lowered her head.
“I know.”
He looked confused.
Then he noticed her untouched dinner.
And my trembling hands.
“What happened?”
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
“Darling, Rosa was getting confused about where the staff should eat. Grace encouraged her.”
Luca turned toward her.
“Getting confused?”
“She's elderly, Luca. These things happen.”
His expression hardened.
“Vanessa, this woman taught me to make pasta when I was six.”
The room became silent.
“She fed my father when he couldn't afford to pay his employees.”
His voice trembled.
“And she worked beside my mother every Christmas Eve for thirty years.”
He looked toward Rosa.
“She's family.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Luca, I'm trying to run a respectable restaurant.”
He stared at her.
“Then start by respecting the people who built it.”
He pulled out the chair beside his own.
“Rosie, sit with me.”
Rosa shook her head.
“I shouldn't.”
“Please.”
He gently kissed her forehead.
“Mom would want you here.”
The old woman began crying again.
I thought the worst was over.
But when Luca reached for the serving spoon beside Rosa's plate, she suddenly caught his wrist.
“Luca, sweetheart, I need to tell you something.”
He sat down.
“What is it?”
Rosa looked toward Vanessa.
Her hands were shaking.
“I wasn't invited tonight.”
Luca frowned.
“Of course you were. I personally asked Vanessa to find you.”
Rosa shook her head.
“She told me you didn't want me here anymore.”
Luca slowly turned.
“Vanessa?”
His fiancée gave an uncomfortable laugh.
“It was a misunderstanding.”
But Rosa wasn't finished.
“She came to my apartment last Tuesday.”
My stomach dropped.
Because I'd been working in the kitchen when Rosa arrived that afternoon.
And she'd told me she'd come to say goodbye.
Not to retire.
To say goodbye.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, “Mrs. Romano was told this restaurant is closing.”
Luca stopped moving.
“Closing?”
Vanessa immediately stood.
“Grace, you've already caused enough trouble.”
But Luca raised his hand.
“Let her speak.”
I swallowed.
“Mrs. Romano said the kitchen equipment is being removed Monday morning.”
Luca looked toward Vanessa.
“Who authorized that?”
She didn't answer.
“Vanessa?”
Finally, she whispered, “We're renovating.”
Luca's expression changed.
“I haven't approved any renovation.”
Rosa suddenly reached into her apron.
She removed a small brass key.
Old.
Worn smooth from decades of use.
And placed it in Luca's hand.
“Your father gave me this the year we opened.”
Luca studied it.
“The original kitchen key.”
Rosa nodded.
“He told me I could always come home.”
Her voice broke.
“But Vanessa said my name was being removed from the business.”
Luca frowned.
“What name?”
Rosa looked at him.
Then whispered something that made Vanessa grip the edge of the table.
“Sweetheart, your father and I opened this restaurant together.”
Luca stared at her.
“I know, Rosie.”
She shook her head.
“No. You don't understand.”
Her eyes filled.
“Your father owned half. I owned the other half.”
Nobody moved.
Luca looked toward Vanessa.
Then back at Rosa.
“Rosie, why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Your father wanted you to inherit his half when he passed. Mine was supposed to stay with my children.”
Vanessa suddenly whispered, “That's not how the agreement works anymore.”
Luca slowly turned.
“What agreement?”
Rosa began crying.
“That's what I've been trying to tell you.”
She tightened her grip on his hand.
“Someone sold my half of the restaurant last Thursday.”
Luca went completely still.
“That's impossible.”
Rosa nodded.
“I know.”
“Who signed the sale?”
Tears ran down her face.
“According to the buyer, I did.”
Vanessa backed away from the table.
Luca looked directly at her.
“Vanessa, what have you done?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then Rosa caught my wrist.
“Grace, sweetheart, tell him about the man who came into the kitchen.”
My heart began pounding.
Because a stranger had arrived that afternoon.
He'd been carrying a black leather briefcase.
And Vanessa had introduced him as the new restaurant manager.
But before he left, I'd heard him say something strange.
Something about the private dining room.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, “that man said they weren't buying the restaurant for the food.”
Luca looked at me.
“Then why were they buying it?”
I glanced toward the walnut-paneled wall behind his chair.
“He said the new owner wanted access to something your father left behind.”
Luca frowned.
“What?”
Rosa began trembling.
Then she whispered, “Luca, there's a reason your father never allowed anyone to renovate this room.”
He turned toward her.
“Why?”
She pointed toward the enormous family photograph hanging above the fireplace.
“Because that's not the original wall behind it.”
Vanessa suddenly shouted, “Rosa, don't!”
But Luca was already standing.
He looked from the photograph to his fiancée.
May you like
Then asked the question that silenced the entire restaurant.
“Vanessa, what did you promise those people they'd find inside my father's restaurant?”
