Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Broth
Norah stared at Vincent.
“What do you mean?”
He placed her phone carefully on the kitchen counter.
“I mean the man following you isn’t collecting gambling debts.”
“You can tell that from half a face in a reflection?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Vincent looked toward Enzo.
Enzo understood without being told.
He took the phone and left.
Norah stepped after him.
“Where is he going?”
“To find out why someone from my organization is watching you.”
The words hit harder than she expected.
“Your organization?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Formerly.”
That one word changed the room.
Norah wrapped her arms around herself.
“Start talking.”
Vincent’s eyebrows lifted.
Nobody in the mansion spoke to him like that.
Norah no longer cared.
“Someone has been threatening me for months. I took this job because I need money. Now you’re telling me one of your people is involved. So start talking.”
Vincent watched her for a long moment.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
He sat instead.
“The man in that photograph is Marco Della.”
Norah waited.
“He handled collections for Salvatore Venn.”
“Who’s Salvatore Venn?”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“The man who poisoned me.”
Silence.
Norah’s mouth went dry.
The kitchen suddenly seemed too small.
“The underboss?”
Vincent nodded.
“The one who—”
“Yes.”
“The one you…”
She stopped.
Vincent finished it for her.
“The one who didn’t survive his attempt to replace me.”
Norah looked toward the closed kitchen door.
“Why would his collector follow me?”
“That’s what Enzo is finding out.”
“I don’t know anybody named Salvatore.”
“I believe you.”
The answer surprised her.
“You do?”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Despite everything, she almost laughed.
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Still taking it.”
Vincent’s mouth twitched again.
Then the moment vanished.
“Tell me about your brother.”
Norah’s expression closed.
“No.”
“Norah.”
“He’s not your business.”
“Someone connected to the man who poisoned me is using your brother’s debt to get close to you while you work inside my house. That makes him my business.”
She hated that he was right.
So she told him.
Her brother’s name was Daniel.
Two years older.
Funny when sober.
Generous when he had money.
Destructive when he didn’t.
He started gambling after losing his construction job.
Sports bets became card games.
Card games became private rooms where nobody asked for identification because everyone knew desperation was more profitable than credit.
Daniel borrowed.
Then borrowed again.
Norah paid what she could.
She sold her car.
Emptied her savings.
Worked double shifts.
Then one morning Daniel disappeared.
He left a note.
I’m sorry.
That was all.
Three days later, two men visited Norah’s apartment.
They explained that debt could be inherited socially even when it couldn’t be inherited legally.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Pay, or suffer.
Norah’s voice became smaller as she finished.
“I’ve paid almost twelve thousand already.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know his real name.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“How do you pay?”
“Cash drops.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
“And nobody ever gave you paperwork?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Loan sharks aren’t known for customer service.”
Vincent leaned back.
“What if Daniel never owed them fifty thousand?”
Norah froze.
“What?”
“What if they chose a number you could spend years paying?”
“No.”
“You’ve never seen records.”
“He owed money.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Norah shook her head.
“You’re trying to turn this into something bigger.”
“It became bigger when Marco Della photographed you outside my gate.”
Enzo returned forty minutes later.
He wasn’t alone.
Vincent’s security chief, Anthony, entered behind him carrying a thin folder.
Enzo placed it on the table.
“We checked Bennett’s employment application.”
Norah’s heart sank.
“What about it?”
“You were recommended.”
“No. I applied online.”
Enzo shook his head.
“You applied. But somebody manually moved your application to the top.”
Vincent opened the folder.
“Who?”
“Personnel manager at Rossy Property Management.”
“And who told him?”
Enzo hesitated.
“Marco Della.”
Norah felt sick.
“My job?”
“Was arranged,” Enzo said.
She gripped the counter.
The estate.
The cleaning shift.
The kitchen.
Had any of it been accidental?
Vincent’s eyes moved toward her.
Norah immediately understood what he was thinking.
“You think I knew.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Vincent stood.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Norah.”
She looked.
“If I thought you were part of it, you wouldn’t be standing alone beside a drawer full of knives.”
That was such a Vincent Rossy way of offering reassurance that Norah almost became angry.
Almost.
Instead she whispered, “Then why me?”
Nobody had an answer.
That night Vincent insisted she remain at the estate.
Norah refused.
He insisted again.
She refused louder.
Finally Vincent said, “Fine. Enzo drives you home.”
“I take the bus.”
“Not tonight.”
Norah looked at Enzo.
He shrugged.
“Trust me. This is the compromise.”
Her apartment was forty minutes away.
Enzo drove a black SUV while another vehicle followed.
Norah felt ridiculous.
Until they reached her building.
Her front door was open.
She knew immediately.
She had locked it that morning.
Enzo stepped in front of her.
“Stay here.”
He entered with another guard.
Two minutes later he returned.
“You’re not sleeping here.”
Norah pushed past him.
The apartment had been searched.
Not robbed.
Searched.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress overturned.
Cupboards opened.
Nothing valuable was missing.
On the kitchen table sat a single object.
A chicken bone.
Norah stopped breathing.
Enzo swore quietly.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
KEEP HIM EATING.
Norah’s knees weakened.
The simple broth.
Vincent.
The poisoning.
Her employment.
Someone had wanted her inside the estate.
But why?
She reached for the note.
Enzo stopped her.
“Don’t touch it.”
Norah stared.
“They knew.”
“Yes.”
“They knew he was eating my food.”
“Yes.”
She looked at Enzo.
“What do they want me to do?”
His answer was immediate.
“Whatever it is, you’re not staying here long enough to find out.”
Back at the estate, Vincent was waiting in the foyer.
He had changed into black trousers and a dark shirt, but he had not gone to bed.
Norah entered carrying the only bag Enzo had allowed her to pack.
Vincent saw her face.
Then he saw the evidence bag containing the note.
His eyes went cold.
“Guest room,” he said.
“I’m not staying permanently.”
“No one said permanently.”
“And tomorrow I’m leaving.”
“We’ll argue about that tomorrow.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Norah was too tired to fight.
She turned toward the stairs.
“Norah.”
She stopped.
Vincent stood beneath the chandelier.
For once, he didn’t look like a feared crime boss.
He looked like a man who understood exactly what it meant to discover that safety had been an illusion.
“You’re safe tonight.”
She wanted to believe him.
Upstairs, Norah showered and changed into borrowed clothes.
She lay awake for an hour.
Then hunger finally forced her downstairs.
The kitchen lights were dim.
Vincent was already there.
He sat alone at the table.
In front of him was the empty white bowl.
Norah opened the refrigerator.
“You hungry?”
He looked at her.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
She found eggs.
“Scrambled?”
Vincent nodded.
Norah cooked enough for two.
They ate without speaking.
Halfway through, Vincent said, “My grandmother used to make broth like yours.”
Norah looked up.
It was the first personal thing he had volunteered.
“She poor?”
“Very.”
“Mine too.”
“She saved chicken bones.”
“So did mine.”
“Onion skins?”
“Everything.”
For a few minutes, they were not a maid and a mafia boss.
They were two people remembering kitchens where wasting food had been a luxury nobody could afford.
Vincent finished his eggs.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“When?”
A pause.
“Bring him in.”
Norah put down her fork.
“Who?”
Vincent stood.
“Marco Della.”
Her pulse accelerated.
“You found him?”
“Yes.”
Vincent moved toward the door.
Then Enzo appeared.
His expression stopped Vincent cold.
“What?”
Enzo looked at Norah.
Then back at Vincent.
“Marco wasn’t alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Enzo hesitated.
“A man carrying Daniel Bennett’s identification.”
Norah’s chair scraped backward.
“My brother?”
Enzo’s face remained grim.
“No.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Norah stared at it.
May you like
And realized that whatever had happened to Daniel was far worse than simply running away.
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