Chapter 3 - THE WATCH ON THE TABLE
Nobody touched the watch.
I wanted to.
I also wanted to throw it through the window.
My father had been dead for eighteen months.
For most of my life, I knew Lorenzo Marino as a man who woke at four in the morning, smelled permanently of flour and coffee, and refused to sell yesterday’s bread at full price.
He taught me Italian because his mother insisted Americans forgot too quickly where they came from.
He taught me to make biscotti.
He taught me that a person who cheated a customer out of fifty cents would eventually cheat someone out of fifty thousand dollars.
He had never once said the words Pier Twelve.
Now twelve Mafia men were looking at me as though my father had walked back into the room.
“What happened fifteen years ago?” I asked.
Gabriel glanced at Matteo.
Matteo said, “She asked you.”
That mattered.
Gabriel nodded.
“The Bellinis and Riccis were negotiating shared truck access during a union dispute. Aldo Russo was young then. Ambitious. He had married into money but not yet into influence.”
Carlo interrupted.
“My father never trusted him.”
“Your father didn’t trust anybody,” Gabriel said.
“Usually saved him trouble.”
Gabriel accepted that.
“Lorenzo translated because both sides trusted him.”
I almost laughed.
“My father sold bread.”
“Your father spoke four dialects, knew half the dockworkers by name, and had a talent for making angry men feel embarrassed about shouting.”
That sounded like him.
Which made everything worse.
Gabriel continued.
“Aldo translated one sentence differently during a private meeting. He turned temporary loading priority into exclusive loading authority.”
The same trick.
Nearly the same words.
Matteo saw it too.
“He’s repeating the old play.”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t he exposed?”
“He was.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“By Lorenzo.”
I stared at the scratched watch.
“What did my father do?”
“He corrected him in front of everyone.”
Carlo nodded slowly.
“My father talked about that night. Never used Lorenzo’s name. Called him the baker.”
“He wasn’t a baker yet,” Gabriel said.
“What happened after?”
Gabriel hesitated.
Enzo answered instead.
“Your father left the waterfront.”
I looked at him.
“That’s not an answer.”
Enzo’s expression hardened.
“It’s the one you’re getting.”
Matteo turned his head.
“No. It isn’t.”
Enzo looked at his cousin.
“We are in the middle of a sit-down.”
“We were. It’s over.”
Carlo stood.
One of the Ricci men rose with him.
Matteo said, “Sit.”
Carlo raised an eyebrow.
“You telling me or asking me?”
“I’m telling you nobody leaves here believing tonight’s translation represented a Bellini offer.”
Carlo considered him.
Then sat.
“Fair enough.”
Matteo looked around the table.
“Pier Twelve remains under the terms we walked in with. Temporary Ricci access until the union vote. Nothing permanent. Nothing tied to my marriage.”
Bianca flinched at the final word.
Matteo saw it.
“Is that understood?”
Carlo nodded.
“It is by me.”
Matteo turned toward Paolo.
“You’re finished working for this family.”
Paolo looked almost grateful.
Then Matteo added, “But you’re staying until I know who told you to change the language.”
Paolo’s relief vanished.
“I already said—”
“You said Dominic hired you. That isn’t the same thing.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“I recommended him because Gabriel asked for a neutral translator.”
Matteo looked at Gabriel.
“True?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him to change anything?”
“No.”
Paolo shook his head quickly.
“Nobody told me directly.”
I frowned.
Matteo did too.
“What does that mean?”
Paolo looked toward Bianca.
She became very still.
“Three days ago,” he said, “Miss Russo asked whether I understood how important the wedding was.”
Bianca said, “That proves nothing.”
“She said some agreements needed to sound stronger than they were so Mr. Bellini would stop leaving himself room to change his mind.”
“That is not an instruction to mistranslate.”
“No,” Paolo admitted.
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Who gave you the exact language?”
Paolo swallowed.
“Enzo.”
Every head turned.
Enzo did not move.
Dominic stared at him.
“What?”
Paolo continued.
“Mr. Enzo told me that if Ricci used temporary language, I should translate it as permanent because that was the final understanding between the families anyway.”
Matteo stepped toward his cousin.
“Did you?”
Enzo’s jaw flexed.
“I told him to translate the agreement we expected to reach.”
“That isn’t what he said.”
“We needed certainty.”
“For Russo?”
“For us.”
Matteo’s voice dropped.
“You’re going to explain that.”
Enzo looked around the table.
Something almost bitter crossed his face.
“You think Pier Twelve survives because everybody politely waits for you to make a decision?”
“Careful.”
“No. You want truth tonight? Have it.”
Enzo pointed at the wedding invitation.
“The union vote is six days away. Ricci has been gaining support. Russo controls men who can swing three crews. Your marriage brings his people behind us.”
Carlo said, “My crews aren’t property either.”
Enzo ignored him.
“To keep the pier, Matteo needs Russo.”
Bianca whispered, “Enzo.”
He turned on her.
“You wanted the same thing.”
“I wanted a marriage.”
“You wanted your father satisfied.”
Matteo’s expression became unreadable.
“So you were willing to let me accept a false offer because you believed the correct outcome justified the lie.”
Enzo said nothing.
Gabriel closed his eyes.
And I finally understood something.
Those three captains had not all known the same secret.
They had known different pieces.
That was why their reactions were different.
Peter had known Russo expected a concession.
Dominic had hired Paolo.
Enzo had instructed him how to translate.
And Gabriel had built the entire strategy without telling Matteo how far it had gone.
Answer one question.
Open four more.
I reached for my father’s watch.
Gabriel stopped me.
“Wait.”
I looked at him.
He pressed a small latch near the crown.
The back of the watch opened.
Inside was an engraving I had never seen.
Two sets of initials.
A.B.
L.M.
Matteo leaned closer.
“Antonio Bellini.”
His father.
Gabriel nodded.
I stared at him.
“You said this belonged to my father.”
“It did.”
“Then why are Matteo’s father’s initials inside it?”
Gabriel looked at Matteo.
“Because the watch belonged to Antonio first.”
Matteo’s face changed.
Gabriel removed the watch and placed it directly between us.
“Your father gave it to Lorenzo the night Lorenzo stopped Aldo Russo from stealing Pier Twelve the first time.”
I whispered, “Why?”
Gabriel’s answer made Matteo go completely still.
May you like
“Because Lorenzo Marino saved your father’s life without ever touching a weapon.”
---
