Chapter 3 - The Verse My Grandmother Changed
I spent the night writing down every line I remembered.
Christopher brought coffee at two in the morning.
“I thought mafia bosses had people for this.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“I am trying to diversify.”
I almost smiled.
We isolated the odd words Nona used.
Stone.
Bell.
Three olives.
Black water.
Saint without a face.
Christopher read the list.
“My mother used ‘stone’ as slang for a safe house.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“It was.”
Marco returned with old maps of Caserta and Calabria.
By dawn, one phrase stood out.
Three olive trees beneath the silent bell.
Christopher said, “There’s a ruined chapel near my mother’s village. The bell was removed after an earthquake.”
Marco checked photographs.
“Three olive trees behind it.”
I stared.
“So we go to Italy?”
Christopher said, “Yes.”
I laughed.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I have rent. Work. A life.”
He studied me.
“Do you?”
The question hurt.
He realized it immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re not entirely wrong.”
My grandmother was gone. Translation work was inconsistent. My apartment felt like a waiting room.
Still, I hated having my emptiness named.
“I’m not a puzzle piece in your family history.”
“I know.”
“Then stop moving me around like one.”
He nodded.
“Choose.”
I looked at Nona’s words.
“I choose to know.”
Before Italy could become a plan, Italy came to us.
An elderly woman arrived at the townhouse that morning.
Her name was Giulia Vitali.
Christopher stared when she entered.
“You’re alive.”
“So are you.”
She had Maria’s eyes.
Christopher stepped toward her, then stopped.
“Why did everyone tell me you were dead?”
“Because your father wanted me dead.”
His expression hardened.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
Then Giulia looked at me.
“Lucia’s granddaughter.”
I nodded.
“You sing like her.”
“Nona knew you?”
“Until she died.”
I felt betrayed all over again.
“She never told me.”
“To protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I am beginning to hate that sentence.”
“So did Maria.”
Giulia opened a black handbag and took out a silver music box.
I recognized it instantly.
It had sat on Nona’s dresser throughout my childhood.
I had buried it with her.
“How do you have that?”
Giulia’s face tightened.
“Because Lucia’s grave was opened three nights ago.”
The room went cold.
“What?”
“Someone dug into it looking for the ledger.”
I could not breathe.
Christopher moved closer, but did not touch me.
Giulia placed the box on the table.
“I reached the cemetery after they left.”
“You knew where she was buried?”
“Yes.”
“All these years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because Greco watched everyone tied to Lucia.”
Christopher asked, “How did they know Emily was involved?”
Giulia looked toward the doorway.
At one of Christopher’s guards.
A young man named Nico.
Christopher followed her gaze.
Nico reached inside his jacket.
Marco moved first.
He slammed Nico into the wall before the weapon cleared fabric.
A brief struggle followed.
Christopher pushed me behind him.
Nico swung once.
Christopher blocked him and drove one hard punch into his jaw.
Nico stumbled.
Marco pinned him to the floor.
Christopher stopped immediately.
No rage. No extra blow.
He turned to me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
Nico laughed from the floor.
“Greco pays everyone eventually.”
Christopher looked down at him.
“How long?”
Nico smiled through blood at his lip.
“Long enough.”
They dragged him away.
Giulia wound the music box.
The melody that played was Nona’s song.
But four notes were wrong.
I leaned closer.
“That isn’t how she sang it.”
Giulia looked at me.
“Exactly.”
After the shooting, police insisted I give a formal statement.
Christopher waited outside the interview room.
I could see him through the glass.
He paced.
Once.
Twice.
Then Marco said something that made him stop.
When I came out, Christopher stood immediately.
“You okay?”
“You have asked me that six times.”
“I can make it seven.”
“I’m okay.”
Detective Sullivan approached with the flattened bullet recovered from the parked car.
“The shooter wasn’t trying to hit Ms. Carter.”
Christopher’s face hardened.
“What?”
“The angle is wrong. Both rounds were high and to the side.”
“A warning?”
“Likely.”
I almost laughed.
“Comforting.”
Sullivan looked at Christopher.
“Whoever did this wanted you frightened enough to move her.”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed.
“Move her where?”
“Exactly.”
That was the first time we considered that our reactions might be part of someone else’s plan.
Greco did not need to know where the ledger was if he could make us carry the clues from one protected place to another.
I looked at Christopher.
“We are being guided.”
He nodded slowly.
“Office. Safe house. Cafe.”
“Every time we move, somebody watches.”
Marco joined us.
“Then we stop moving predictably.”
Christopher looked at him.
“Change every vehicle. No phones on the next search. Split the team.”
I said, “And stop assuming your security is invisible.”
Both men looked at me.
“What?”
I pointed at Marco’s suit.
“You look like security from three blocks away.”
Marco looked offended.
“This is Italian wool.”
“That does not help.”
Sullivan laughed.
Christopher almost did.
The next trip to Tre Olivi used an old delivery van from Mr. Bellini’s restaurant.
Christopher wore a Red Sox cap.
It was the least convincing disguise I had ever seen.
“You look like a billionaire being punished.”
“I hate this hat.”
“Perfect.”
He glanced at me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Fear was still there.
But so was something else.
Agency.
May you like
For the first time since the letter appeared, I was not merely being moved from danger to safety.
I was helping decide the route.
