Chapter 4 - The Enemy at Bellavita
The next morning, Bellavita was closed.
A handwritten sign on the front door said there had been a plumbing emergency.
There had not.
Inside, every employee stood in the dining room while Chicago detectives interviewed us one by one.
I had barely slept. Dominic had sent a driver to take me home at three in the morning, but I spent the rest of the night sitting on my kitchen floor, staring at the baby blanket I had never been able to throw away.
By noon, Detective Marisol Vega called me into the restaurant manager’s office.
She was sharp-eyed, tired-looking, and not impressed by the armed men standing outside.
“Ms. Bennett,” she said, “tell me again about the bodyguard who tried to leave.”
“Luca Romano.”
“Did you see him near the bassinet?”
“No. But he was close to Dominic’s table all night.”
“Anyone else?”
I thought about it.
The restaurant had been crowded. Wealthy men. Beautiful women. Politicians. Businessmen. Dominic’s security detail.
Then I remembered a woman.
She had been standing near the bar in a red coat, watching Dominic’s table.
Not drinking.
Not talking.
Watching.
“There was someone else,” I said.
Detective Vega leaned forward.
“A woman in red. Maybe mid-thirties. Dark hair. She wore gloves the whole time.”
“Did she approach the baby?”
“I don’t know. But she was looking at him.”
Vega wrote it down.
When I stepped back into the dining room, Dominic was waiting.
He looked exhausted. He had not changed clothes. His dark hair was slightly disordered, and there was dried blood on one cuff—probably Luca’s.
“Matteo?” I asked.
“Stable.”
Relief loosened something in my chest.
“Good.”
Dominic studied me. “You remembered something.”
“The woman in red.”
His face darkened.
“You know her?”
“I might.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It isn’t meant to be.”
Before he could explain, the restaurant’s front door opened.
A woman entered.
Red coat.
Dark hair.
Black leather gloves.
Every guard in the room reached for a weapon.
The woman smiled.
“Still dramatic, Dominic.”
Dominic’s expression turned to ice.
“Bianca.”
She looked at me.
Then at Dominic.
“So this is the waitress.”
“I have a name,” I said.
Bianca smiled wider. “Of course you do.”
“Why are you here?” Dominic asked.
“To tell you that Luca was not acting alone.”
The room went silent.
Bianca reached into her purse slowly, then placed a small silver key on the nearest table.
“Your child’s life was a message,” she said. “Someone wants you to understand that you are no longer untouchable.”
Dominic stepped toward her.
“Who?”
Bianca’s smile faded.
“My brother.”
The name came out like poison.
“Victor Moretti.”
I looked at Dominic.
His face did not change.
But everyone around him did.
One guard crossed himself.
Another looked toward the windows as if expecting bullets at any moment.
Bianca picked up the key and placed it in Dominic’s hand.
“Union Station. Locker 418.”
Then she looked at me again.
“You should leave Chicago, waitress.”
“Why?”
“Because men like Dominic do not just attract danger.”
Her gaze slid to the restaurant’s shattered entrance.
“They create it.”
She walked out before anyone stopped her.
Dominic stared down at the key.
“Who is Victor?” I asked.
“My older brother,” he said.
“And?”
“He’s dead.”
Bianca’s words echoed in my head.
Someone wants you to understand that you are no longer untouchable.
Dominic looked at me.
May you like
“He was supposed to be.”
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