Chapter 2 - THE OLD MAN’S DEBT TO A DEAD SPARROW
Salvatore Gallo’s hand tightened around the silver handle of his cane.
The color drained from his already pale face.
For a terrifying second, the entire restaurant seemed to stop breathing. The bodyguards stood frozen.
Dante Gallo didn’t look at his father. His dark eyes were locked entirely on me.
"Pietro Rossi," Salvatore whispered. The Sicilian dialect suddenly sounded hollow, stripped of its previous venom. "Pietro the sparrow."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Yes."
Salvatore slowly lowered himself into the plush leather chair of the corner booth. He looked suddenly frail.
He reached into the inner breast pocket of his charcoal suit.
One of the bodyguards tensed, but Salvatore waved him off with a trembling hand.
He pulled out a small, worn object and placed it on the white linen tablecloth.
It was half of a wooden rosary.
The beads were chipped, the string frayed, and the crucifix was entirely missing.
I stopped breathing.
I reached beneath my cheap waitress collar and pulled out the silver chain I never took off. Hanging from it was the matching wooden crucifix.
Dante saw it. His jaw tightened.
"Where did you get that?" Dante demanded, his voice dropping to a lethal octave.
"My grandfather gave it to me before he died," I whispered, my fingers closing around the worn wood. "He told me he broke the beads giving the other half to a man who promised to protect our family."
Salvatore stared at the crucifix resting against my collarbone.
"I was that man," the old don said softly.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
My grandfather had died in a cramped, freezing apartment, drowning in medical debt while I worked double shifts just to buy his pain medication.
"You didn't do a very good job," I said.
Paul, my manager, let out a terrified squeak from the kitchen doors.
Dante stood up slowly. He towered over me, a beautiful, terrifying force of nature in a tailored suit.
"You will speak to my father with respect," Dante warned.
"Let her speak!" Salvatore slammed his cane against the floor.
The old man looked up at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I looked for him, Nora. For thirty years. He took the blame for a crime he didn't commit to save my life. He fled Prizzi, and he disappeared. I owed him everything."
I felt physically sick.
My gentle, quiet grandfather. A criminal? A man running from the mafia?
"He wasn't a criminal," I said, my voice shaking. "He was a baker."
"He was a saint," Salvatore corrected. He looked at Dante. "This girl does not pour wine anymore. She is Gallo family. She is under my absolute protection."
Dante studied my frayed uniform, the exhaustion lines around my eyes, and the cheap shoes I had glued together last week.
"Agreed," Dante said quietly.
"No," I stepped back, the tray shaking in my hands. "I don't want your protection. I don't want anything to do with your family. I have to finish my shift. I have to go home to Leo."
Dante’s eyes narrowed. "Who is Leo?"
"My six-year-old nephew," I said fiercely. "I am all he has. And I am not bringing the mafia into his life."
I turned my back on the most dangerous men in the city and walked toward the kitchen.
Before I reached the swinging doors, Dante’s phone vibrated.
He answered it. He listened for exactly three seconds.
"Nora," Dante called out.
I didn't stop.
"Nora, wait." His voice wasn't an order anymore. It was a warning.
I pushed the kitchen doors open.
Dante caught my arm, spinning me around. His dark eyes were filled with a sudden, violent urgency.
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"You aren't going back to that apartment," Dante said. "My men just called from your street. The building is burning to the ground."
TITLE: The Ashes Of A Quiet Life
