Chapter 3 - The Mafia Boss Comes to Bellucci's
Delaney went to work anyway.
Frank argued.
She won by pointing out that eleven thousand dollars in hospital debt did not disappear because dangerous men had discovered her name.
Frank did not appreciate the logic.
Damon appreciated it even less.
At eleven-fifteen, Bellucci's front doors opened.
The lunch host froze.
Conversation across the dining room thinned.
Damon Bianchi walked in wearing a charcoal overcoat over a black suit.
No visible guards.
Which somehow made his presence worse.
Delaney stood at table twelve holding a tray of sparkling water.
Her manager, Paul, rushed forward.
"Mr. Bianchi. We weren't expecting—"
"I'm not eating."
Damon looked past him.
At Delaney.
"Five minutes."
Paul turned toward her with an expression usually reserved for kitchen fires.
Delaney set down the tray.
"If I get fired, you're paying my rent."
Damon looked at Paul.
"She won't be fired."
Paul nodded immediately.
Delaney sighed.
"That was deeply irritating."
Damon led her toward the quiet bar.
She stayed standing.
"What happened?"
"Three men asked where you live."
Her stomach tightened.
"Frank told me."
"They also asked whether you took anything from my mother."
"I didn't."
"I know."
"That's new."
Damon ignored it.
"One man used the name Mercer."
"Who is that?"
"Not someone you need to meet."
"Helpful."
"They were told you were off today."
"I'm not."
"I noticed."
"Then your intelligence network needs work."
Damon looked at her.
"You joke when you're afraid."
"You threaten when you're worried."
His eyes narrowed.
"Fair."
That surprised her.
She folded her arms.
"Why would anyone care that I found your mother?"
"Because my mother owns thirty-one percent of Bianchi Holdings."
Delaney stared.
"Your mother owns your company?"
"Part of it."
"And someone wants her shares?"
"Someone wants control."
"Who?"
"I don't know yet."
"You don't know who is trying to take control of your own company?"
"I know several people who would enjoy it."
"Healthy family."
"Not all of them are family."
Delaney thought of Teresa in the alley.
"Was she supposed to get lost?"
Damon did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
He placed a small card on the bar.
"Call that number if anyone approaches you."
"No."
His patience thinned.
"Delaney."
"I am not joining your spy movie."
"This isn't a movie."
"Exactly. I have rent."
"You could take the money you refused."
"No."
"Why?"
She looked at him.
"Because once rich men solve poor women's problems, they start believing they own the next decision."
Damon went still.
Something old crossed his face.
Not anger.
Recognition.
"Who taught you that?"
"Life."
He pushed the card closer.
"Keep the number."
She took it.
Not because he told her to.
Because three strangers had asked for her address.
"Fine."
Damon turned to leave.
Then her phone buzzed.
The screen lit.
MERCY GENERAL — COLLECTIONS REVIEW.
She flipped it over.
Too late.
Damon had seen.
"Eleven thousand?"
Her face burned.
"None of your business."
"What is it?"
"None. Of. Your. Business."
His jaw worked once.
"Medical?"
"Goodbye, Damon."
"Your mother's?"
Delaney froze.
That was enough.
He understood.
Her anger came fast.
"Do not."
"Do not what?"
"Fix it."
"I didn't say anything."
"You have a face."
"A face."
"Yes. A rich-man face that says some assistant is about to call someone."
Damon almost smiled.
"I have many faces."
"Use a different one."
He studied her.
Then nodded.
"I won't touch it."
Delaney did not believe him.
At two that afternoon, she checked the hospital portal.
Balance unchanged.
She felt ridiculous for being relieved.
At four, Teresa called Bellucci's.
Not Frank.
Not a guard.
Teresa herself.
Paul answered first, then handed the phone to Delaney like it was a sacred object.
"Hello?"
"My soup girl."
Delaney smiled despite herself.
"How are you?"
"Annoyed."
"That's usually a good sign."
"My son has placed two men outside my sitting room."
"Maybe because you escaped into a blizzard."
"I went for air."
"You went twenty miles."
"Details."
Her voice was clearer today.
Warm.
"You will come to dinner."
"Mrs. Bianchi—"
"Teresa."
"Teresa, I work nights."
"Tomorrow."
"I work tomorrow."
"The day after."
Delaney laughed.
"Are you always like this?"
"Yes."
In the background, Damon said, "Mother."
Teresa lowered her voice theatrically.
"He thinks I can't hear him."
"I can hear you too," Damon said.
Delaney smiled.
Teresa continued.
"I want to thank you properly."
"You did."
"I ate soup."
"Exactly."
"You are stubborn."
"So I'm told."
Teresa became quiet.
Then she said, "I was frightened."
Delaney's smile faded.
"I know."
"I remember the snow. I remember not knowing my name. I remember you didn't look disgusted."
Delaney swallowed.
"You had nothing to be ashamed of."
"Come have dinner."
This time, it was not command.
It was request.
"Okay."
The following evening, a car brought Delaney to Lake Forest.
She wore the only black dress she owned, purchased for her mother's funeral.
Teresa noticed.
"This dress has sadness."
Delaney looked down.
"That's a strange thing to say."
"Is it wrong?"
"No."
Teresa patted the chair beside her.
Dinner was served in a smaller family room instead of the enormous formal dining room.
Frank was there.
Damon too.
No guns.
At least none Delaney could see.
Halfway through the meal, Teresa said, "I want Delaney to work for me."
Delaney choked on water.
Damon put down his fork.
"No."
Delaney looked between them.
"I enjoy being consulted in discussions about my employment."
Teresa ignored both.
"Companion. Three afternoons a week."
"I already have a job."
"Keep it."
Damon shook his head.
"Mother, we can hire a trained caregiver."
"I have trained caregivers."
"Then why—"
"Because she talks to me like I'm a person."
Silence.
Teresa looked at Delaney.
"Six weeks. Good salary. You can say no."
Damon's eyes moved to her.
Not encouraging.
Not forbidding.
Waiting.
Delaney thought about the hospital balance.
Rent.
Double shifts.
Her mother's ring sold to pay for a treatment that bought only four more months.
Then she thought about Teresa in the alley.
"I'll think about it."
Teresa smiled.
Damon did not.
After dinner, as Frank drove her home, Delaney asked why Damon objected.
Frank looked through the windshield.
"Mr. Bianchi does not like unknown variables."
"That's romantic."
"He also doesn't like people close to his mother until he knows their motives."
"Mine are soup and debt."
Frank smiled.
"Simple motives can become complicated."
At her building, Delaney stepped out.
Frank lowered the window.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"The three men who came to the restaurant?"
"Yes."
"We identified one."
Delaney waited.
"His employer has done work for Vincent Bianchi."
"Who's Vincent?"
Frank's expression tightened.
"Damon's uncle."
May you like
The family problem, Delaney realized, was not outside the gates.
It was already inside them.
