Chapter 3 - THE WATCH BENEATH THE BED
“Daddy said, ‘If Uncle Enzo comes, don’t open the door.’”
Elena’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“Mia, are you sure?”
Her daughter frowned.
Seven-year-olds hated being asked to prove memories.
“I think.”
“Did you ever see him?”
Mia shook her head.
Dante sat again.
He did not push.
“Do you remember anything else?”
Mia looked at him suspiciously.
“Are you really Daddy’s friend?”
“I was.”
“Then what was his favorite pizza?”
Dante blinked.
Elena nearly laughed despite herself.
“Pepperoni,” Dante said.
Mia shook her head.
“Mushroom.”
Dante stared at her.
“He hated mushrooms.”
“No. He said Mama hated mushrooms.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Marco had ordered mushroom pizza whenever she worked late because she couldn’t stand the smell.
Dante actually smiled.
“Then your father got smarter after he left me.”
Mia seemed satisfied.
Elena wasn’t.
She looked at Dante.
“Why would Marco warn us about Enzo?”
“I intend to ask him.”
“No.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t get to walk out of here, confront some man I’ve never met, and leave me with another half-story.”
“You’re right.”
The answer surprised her.
Dante reached into his coat.
“I’m taking you somewhere safe tonight.”
Elena’s shoulders stiffened.
“We’re going to Aunt Rosa’s.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Elena’s expression changed.
Dante caught it.
He corrected himself.
“It should have been.”
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
“You decide. But someone deliberately sent me the wrong address when I searched for you. Marco hid my brother’s medal on your daughter with Enzo’s name inside it. Until I understand why, I don’t want you alone.”
Elena looked at Mia.
That was the problem with reasonable fear.
It sounded too much like common sense.
“We go to Rosa’s first.”
Dante agreed.
Aunt Rosa lived above a bakery in Little Italy, three flights up, where the hallway always smelled like cinnamon and old radiator pipes.
She opened the door in slippers and a pink robe.
Then she saw Dante.
The color drained from her face.
“No.”
Elena stopped.
“You know him?”
Rosa looked at Dante.
“You finally came.”
Dante went still.
“Mrs. Bellandi?”
“Don’t call me that like we’re strangers.”
Elena stared at her aunt.
“What is happening?”
Rosa looked suddenly older.
“Get Mia inside.”
Mia slipped past her.
Elena didn’t move.
“Aunt Rosa.”
“Inside, Elena.”
“No. Not until somebody stops deciding what I’m allowed to know.”
Rosa shut her eyes.
Then stepped aside.
The apartment was warm.
Mia curled onto the couch beneath a quilt with a bowl of cereal Rosa immediately made despite the restaurant dinner.
Adults underestimated how much seven-year-olds could eat after months of having too little.
Rosa sat at the kitchen table.
Dante remained standing.
Elena crossed her arms.
“Start.”
Rosa looked at her niece.
“Marco told me if a Moretti ever came asking about you, I was supposed to give them one thing.”
“What thing?”
Rosa hesitated.
“His coat.”
Elena stared.
“What coat?”
“The gray wool one.”
“He lost that years ago.”
“No.”
Rosa looked ashamed.
“He left it here.”
“When?”
“Two days before he died.”
Elena’s chest tightened.
“What else did he leave you?”
“Nothing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he made me promise.”
“My husband died.”
“I know.”
“I sold my wedding ring.”
Rosa’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Men came to my door demanding money.”
“I know.”
“And you had something Marco left behind?”
“I didn’t know it mattered.”
“You knew enough to hide it for four years.”
Rosa looked down.
“Yes.”
Dante said quietly, “Let her be angry.”
Rosa nodded.
“She deserves to be.”
She disappeared into the bedroom.
When she returned, she carried a gray coat wrapped in an old bedsheet.
Elena recognized it immediately.
Marco wore it on their first winter together.
One cuff was burned from the time he reached across a restaurant candle.
She touched the fabric.
For one second, she could smell him.
Coffee.
Soap.
Cold air.
Grief came so fast she had to grip the chair.
Mia looked over from the couch.
“Daddy’s?”
“Yes, baby.”
Mia climbed down.
She came closer and pushed her small face into the coat.
Then looked disappointed.
“It doesn’t smell like him.”
Elena kissed her hair.
“No.”
Four years was a long time.
Dante examined the lining but did not touch anything until Elena nodded.
A seam beneath the inside pocket had been restitched.
Rosa brought scissors.
Inside were two objects.
A photograph.
And a pocket watch.
Dante picked up the photograph first.
Three young men stood beside Lake Michigan.
Dante was barely twenty.
Next to him was Marco.
The third man had Dante’s eyes and a wider smile.
“Nico,” Elena said.
Dante nodded.
On the back, Marco had written:
THREE BROTHERS. TWO NAMES. ONE PROMISE.
Elena looked at Dante.
“What promise?”
Dante’s face hardened.
“That none of us would become our fathers.”
Before Elena could ask what that meant, Mia pointed to the pocket watch.
“That was Daddy’s.”
Elena frowned.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Yes.”
“I never saw it.”
“He kept it under our bed.”
Elena stared at her.
“What?”
Mia pointed as if adults were being unnecessarily slow.
“Under the bed. In the little box.”
Elena remembered.
There had been a flat wooden box beneath Marco’s side of the bed.
After his death, it was gone.
She assumed the men who emptied his office had taken it.
Dante opened the watch.
The hands had stopped at 6:40.
Inside the cover was an engraving.
M.B. — KEEP THE NUMBERS HONEST.
Elena looked at Dante.
“Who gave him this?”
“My mother.”
“When?”
“When Marco became chief accountant for the employee relief fund.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“The two million dollars.”
“Yes.”
Dante turned the watch over.
Something had been pressed beneath the back plate.
A narrow paper ticket.
LUNETTA WINTER BENEFIT.
COAT CHECK 214.
The date was four years earlier.
The night before Marco died.
Elena stared at the restaurant name.
“The place we were just in.”
Dante looked at her.
“Marco was there the night before he died.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Rosa suddenly sat down.
“I did.”
Elena turned.
“What?”
“Marco came here afterward.”
Rosa’s hands had started trembling.
“He was soaking wet. Angry. He kept saying, ‘Enzo changed the numbers again.’”
Dante stepped closer.
“What numbers?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else did he say?”
Rosa looked at Elena.
“He said he had finally figured out why the fund disappeared.”
Elena could barely breathe.
“And?”
“He said he was going home to tell you everything.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
“He died the next morning.”
Rosa nodded.
Silence settled.
Then Mia touched the photograph.
She pointed at a fourth figure almost hidden in the background.
An older man in a dark coat.
Only half his face showed.
Dante leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“That’s Enzo.”
Rosa stared at the photograph.
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“You know him?”
“I saw him at Marco’s funeral.”
Elena’s skin went cold.
Rosa nodded slowly.
“He stood across the street the entire time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he was one of Marco’s old business people.”
Dante turned the photograph over again.
There was another line beneath the promise.
So faint they had missed it.
Elena held it beneath the kitchen light.
Marco’s handwriting.
IF ONE OF US BREAKS THE PROMISE, THE OTHER TWO MUST STOP HIM.
Elena looked at Dante.
“Nico was already dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then there were only two of you left.”
Dante stared at Enzo’s face in the background.
“No.”
His voice became very quiet.
“Marco didn’t mean me and him.”
Elena frowned.
Dante pointed to the older man.
“He meant Marco and Enzo.”
He looked at her.
May you like
“Because Enzo was the man who raised all three of us.”
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