Chapter 4 - THE PRESENT WRAPPED IN BROWN PAPER|
By the time the last Thanksgiving guest left, the mansion felt colder than it had all winter.
Vivienne had disappeared into the east wing with her mother.
Matteo had stormed out after Luca ordered him to leave.
And the enormous dining table was still covered with half-eaten food.
I had spent five years cleaning up after the Moretti family's celebrations.
But I had never seen a holiday end like that.
Frank sat beside the fireplace, turning the small wrapped present over in his hands.
Luca stood at the window.
For nearly ten minutes, neither man spoke.
Finally, Frank broke the silence.
"Son, I'm ashamed."
Luca turned.
"Of what?"
"Of making a mess of Thanksgiving."
Luca crossed the room and crouched beside his father.
"Dad, the only thing you did wrong was believe you were supposed to eat alone."
Frank gave a sad little laugh.
"Your mother would have given me an earful for that."
"She would have given all of us an earful."
For the first time that night, both men smiled.
Then Frank held out the present.
"I still want you to have this."
Luca carefully removed the brown paper.
Inside was a small wooden box.
Its dark surface had been polished until it shone.
Luca opened it.
Nestled against faded blue velvet was an old gold pocket watch.
I recognized it immediately.
Frank kept it in the top drawer of his bedroom dresser.
He polished it every Sunday afternoon.
It had belonged to Elena Moretti.
"Mom's watch," Luca whispered.
Frank nodded.
"She bought it for me the year we opened Rosa's Table."
Luca lifted it gently.
On the back were seven engraved words.
THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM FOR ONE MORE.
Frank's eyes filled with tears.
"She used to say that whenever I complained about feeding the whole neighborhood."
Luca turned the watch over.
Something small fell from beneath the velvet lining.
A brass key.
I bent down and picked it up.
"Mr. Frank, what's this for?"
He looked toward the closed study door.
"The storage room at Rosa's Table."
Luca frowned.
"Why would you hide a key inside Mom's watch box?"
Frank hesitated.
"Because I knew Matteo was looking for it."
The room went silent.
Frank explained that several weeks earlier, Matteo had begun asking questions about the restaurant's ownership documents.
He wanted old account books.
Original purchase records.
Bank statements from a business loan eight years earlier.
At first, Frank thought his younger son was finally interested in preserving the family's history.
Then Matteo began bringing strangers to the building.
One afternoon, Frank arrived to find men measuring the walls and photographing the property.
They told him the restaurant would soon become part of a luxury residential development.
"I asked Matteo what he was doing," Frank said.
"He told me I was too old to understand business."
His voice trembled.
"When I refused to sign, he said Vivienne would know how to handle me."
Luca looked at the key.
"Where are the records?"
"In a metal box in the old storeroom."
"Are you certain they're still there?"
Frank nodded.
"I checked them last month."
I glanced at the grandfather clock.
It was nearly midnight.
"Mr. Frank, you should rest."
He shook his head.
"They'll destroy everything if we wait."
Luca looked at me.
"Claire, you've been working since six this morning."
"I know."
"Go home."
I glanced at Frank.
He was clutching the pocket watch as if it were the last piece of his wife he had left.
"With respect, sir, I'm not leaving him frightened and alone."
Luca studied my face.
Then he nodded.
"All right."
Dante arranged for two trusted guards to remain outside Frank's bedroom.
Luca made sure Vivienne could no longer access his father's private rooms.
And just after sunrise on Friday, the four of us drove to Rosa's Table.
The restaurant stood on a quiet stretch of South Halsted Street.
Its red-brick walls had weathered decades of Chicago winters.
A faded wooden sign still hung above the entrance.
ROSA'S TABLE — FAMILY KITCHEN.
I had seen photographs of the place.
But I had never stepped inside.
The moment Frank unlocked the front door, his expression changed.
He wasn't a frightened old man anymore.
He was a husband remembering the happiest years of his life.
"Elena painted those letters herself," he said, pointing toward the sign.
Luca looked around.
Dust covered the wooden tables.
The old red booths were cracked.
And a chalkboard near the kitchen still advertised meatballs and homemade bread.
Frank touched the counter.
"Your mother used to stand here, son."
Luca's voice became quiet.
"I remember."
"You were little."
"I remember the flour on her nose."
Frank smiled.
"She always had flour on her nose."
We entered the back storeroom.
Frank handed Luca the brass key.
"Behind the shelving."
Dante moved an old metal rack away from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow cabinet.
Luca opened the cabinet and pulled out a rusted metal box.
Inside were old ledgers, property records, and bank receipts.
Frank pointed to a thick brown folder.
"That's the one."
Luca opened it.
I watched his expression change as he turned the pages.
There were records of payments made to Lakefront Capital.
Thousands of dollars at a time.
Then hundreds of thousands.
The final entry was dated four years earlier.
Beside it, in Frank's careful handwriting, were three words.
PAID IN FULL.
Luca looked up.
"Matteo said the loan was still outstanding."
Frank shook his head.
"I finished paying it."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Frank's eyes watered.
"Because I didn't want you to hate your brother."
Before Luca could answer, Dante's phone rang.
He listened for several seconds.
Then his face hardened.
"Boss, somebody just entered through the back alley."
Luca closed the folder.
"How many?"
"Two men."
An unfamiliar sound came from the old kitchen.
A metallic scraping noise.
Then a heavy thud.
I smelled something sharp.
Something that didn't belong in an abandoned restaurant.
Gasoline.
"Dante," Luca said, "get Dad outside."
But before anyone moved, a flicker of orange light appeared beneath the kitchen door.
May you like
And suddenly, someone on the other side shouted:
"Burn the records!"
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