Chapter 5 - The Ledger’s Secret
Salvatore didn't look angry; he looked old. The sudden weight of two decades seemed to settle back onto his shoulders as he stared at the handwritten letter on his desk.
"He didn't hide from me to protect himself, child," Salvatore said quietly, his voice losing its iron edge. "He hid to protect me."
Gabriel frowned, stepping closer to the desk. "What are you talking about? Uncle Marco didn't run off with the money?"
"Marco didn't steal a damn thing," Salvatore said, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "He tried to stop a war. The men who actually betrayed our family—the ones who sit on our board today, smiling at your father's side, Gabriel—used Marco as a scapegoat. Gaetano took the blame, took the ledger, and disappeared into the poorest neighborhood in the city to keep the truth from tearing our bloodline apart."
The room went dead silent. The pieces of the puzzle shifted violently in my mind. Mr. Cosenza wasn't a criminal hiding from justice; he was a guardian holding a grenade by the pin, waiting for the right moment to hand it back.
"If the ledger is in that box," Salvatore whispered, staring at me with a mixture of dread and desperate hope, "then the men who killed my brother twenty-five years ago are still sitting at my table."
My heart hammered against my ribs. The medical bills, the restaurant tips, the invisible life I had fought so hard to maintain—all of it suddenly felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. I wasn't just a waitress anymore. I held the key to an entire empire's destruction in my Astoria apartment.
"We need to go back," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy silence of the study.
Gabriel looked at me, his expression a mix of shock and reluctant admiration. "Go back? To your apartment? My father's men are already watching it."
"Not your father's men," a cold voice interrupted from the doorway.
We all spun around. Standing in the entrance of the study was the head of security, the man who had escorted us from my building. His hand rested casually inside his suit jacket, right where a shoulder holster heavy with steel rested against his ribs. Behind him, two other guards blocked the hallway, their expressions entirely blank.
Salvatore slowly stood up behind his desk, his face turning into a mask of pure fury. "Vince. What is the meaning of this?"
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Vince didn't look at the old man. His eyes were locked entirely on me, and on the wooden box sitting on the desk.
"The boss is getting old, Mr. Rossi," Vince said smoothly, a chilling smile touching the corners of his mouth. "He forgets that some debts can't be paid off with a steak and a conversation. Now, hand over the box, girl—or nobody leaves this room alive."
