THE MAN WHO LIVED ABOVE THE DINER

The diner went completely still.

Teresa’s words hung in the air like smoke.

That little boy is forty-one years old. And he still comes here every Sunday.

Luca stared at the old photograph in his hand.

Then he looked at his older brother.

Adrian’s face had lost all its color.

He wasn't acting like a wealthy property manager anymore.

He looked like a man who had just stepped on a landmine.

“She’s lying,” Adrian said.

His voice was too loud. Too rushed.

“Teresa is senile. Dad didn't pay me to hide anyone.”

Luca didn't blink.

“Then why are you sweating, Adrian?”

Adrian swallowed hard.

Luca turned his attention back to Teresa.

He gently placed his hands over hers.

“Mrs. Russo. Who is he?”

Teresa’s eyes darted toward Adrian.

She was terrified.

“His name is Julian,” she whispered.

Luca frowned.

“Julian?”

“Your father’s firstborn.”

The silence in the room deepened.

Luca had grown up believing Adrian was the oldest.

He believed the Moretti legacy belonged to Adrian first, then him.

“My father had another son?”

Teresa nodded.

“With his first wife. Before she passed away. Julian was born with a... a gentle mind.”

I understood what she meant immediately.

A cognitive delay.

Someone innocent.

Someone who couldn't survive in the ruthless, violent world of the Chicago mafia.

“Vittorio wanted to protect him,” Teresa continued, wiping a tear from her cheek. “He knew the other families would use Julian as a weakness. So he hid him. He paid for a quiet life outside the city. And he paid Adrian to make sure nobody ever found out.”

Luca’s dark eyes hardened.

“But Adrian didn't protect him.”

“No,” Teresa cried. “When your father died, Adrian stopped paying for Julian’s care facility. He stole the money.”

Luca turned slowly toward his brother.

Adrian took a step backward.

“Luca, listen to me—”

“You stole from a defenseless man?” Luca asked.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“You stole from our brother?”

“He isn't our brother!” Adrian shouted. “He’s a mistake! A liability! Dad was weak for keeping him alive!”

Luca moved so fast I barely saw it happen.

He grabbed Adrian by the collar of his six-thousand-dollar suit and slammed him against the diner counter.

The sugar glass shattered.

The three customers at the counter scrambled toward the door.

“Where is he, Adrian?” Luca roared.

“I don't know!”

“Teresa said he comes here every Sunday.”

Luca looked at the wall clock.

It was 9:15 AM.

On a Sunday.

Luca looked back at Teresa.

“Is he upstairs right now?”

Teresa shook her head wildly.

“No.”

She looked absolutely terrified.

“He usually is. But he didn't come today.”

Luca loosened his grip on Adrian.

“Why not?”

“Because he has his daughter with him this weekend,” Teresa said. “Little Mia. She’s eight years old.”

Adrian laughed a bitter, ugly laugh.

Luca slammed him against the counter again.

“Shut up.”

I stepped forward.

“Mrs. Russo,” I said softly. “If Julian didn't come today, why did Adrian come here to kick you out?”

Luca froze.

He looked at me.

Then he looked at his brother.

“Emily is right,” Luca said. “You didn't come here to sell the diner, Adrian. You came here looking for Julian.”

Adrian smiled, a thin line of blood on his lip.

“You're smart, little brother. But you're too late.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“What did you do?”

“I fixed Dad’s mistake. Julian has the original family heirloom. The gold necklace that proves he’s the firstborn. As long as he’s alive, my claim to the family commission is contested.”

“You sent men after him.”

“An hour ago.”

Teresa let out a sob and collapsed into the nearest booth.

I rushed to her side.

Luca pulled a gun from the holster beneath his jacket and pressed it directly against Adrian’s chest.

“Where did you send them?”

“To his apartment,” Adrian sneered. “But he’s probably already dead.”

Teresa grabbed my arm.

“Emily, his apartment. The keys.”

I looked at her.

“What keys?”

“In the register!” she gasped. “Julian leaves a spare set in the register!”

I ran behind the counter and opened the cash drawer.

I lifted the plastic coin tray.

Underneath was a heavy, tarnished silver key.

But sitting right next to it was something else.

Something that made my blood run cold.

It was a heavy, silver pocket watch.

The glass face was cracked.

The hands were frozen at exactly 8:45.

Half an hour ago.

I picked it up.

I turned it over.

Engraved on the back were the initials A.M.

Adrian Moretti.

I looked at Adrian.

“This is yours,” I said, holding it up.

Adrian’s eyes widened in genuine shock.

“How did that get in there?”

Luca looked at the watch.

Then he looked at Teresa.

“Mrs. Russo. Who put this watch in the register?”

Teresa was shaking violently.

She pointed toward the back door of the kitchen.

“Julian did.”

Luca frowned.

“You said he wasn't here today.”

“He wasn't,” Teresa sobbed. “But he came through the back alley twenty minutes ago. He was bleeding, Luca. He hid the watch, grabbed his daughter, and ran.”

Luca looked at Adrian.

Adrian wasn't smiling anymore.

He looked terrified.

Because the broken watch didn't mean Julian was dead.

It meant Julian had survived the attack, fought off Adrian’s men, and taken a piece of evidence.

And now, Julian was out there in Chicago.

Bleeding.

With an eight-year-old child.

And Adrian’s assassins were hunting them.

Luca turned to me.

“Emily. Lock the doors. Nobody leaves.”