Chapter 2 - Taken in the Dead of Night: When the Vitiello Family Demands Answers
The restaurant doors locked with a definitive click. I was alone with the two most dangerous men in the city. Salvatore sank back into his velvet chair, looking ten years older. Mateo pulled out a chair for me. I shook my head, my knuckles turning white around the water pitcher.
"Sit, Tessa," Mateo commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. I sat.
Salvatore poured himself a glass of red wine with shaking hands. "Your great-grandmother, Caterina. Did she ever speak of a man named Enzo?"
My heart hammered. Enzo. The name was taboo in my family, spoken only in hushed whispers when my mother thought I was asleep. "He was... a bad man. He abandoned her in Italy before she fled to America."
Salvatore let out a bitter, barking laugh. "Abandoned? Is that what she told your family? Enzo didn't abandon her, child. Enzo was murdered by my rivals because he was my older brother. And Caterina... Caterina was his wife. She was pregnant when she fled to protect the bloodline."
The room spun. My grandmother. My mother. Me. We were Vitiellos?
"No," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "No, my last name is Evans. My family were bakers, not... not mafia."
"Names change. Blood does not," Mateo said softly, leaning over the table. "I always wondered why I felt drawn to you, Tessa. Why I had to sit at your table. It wasn't just your sharp tongue. It was family."
"I am not your family!" I stood up so fast my chair tipped backward, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. "I have a nursing exam tomorrow. I have a normal life. I don't want anything to do with this!"
I turned and ran toward the kitchen doors. I expected bodyguards to tackle me, to drag me back. But they let me go. I burst through the back alley exit, the cold Chicago rain hitting my face. I ran until my lungs burned, until I reached my cramped, tiny apartment. I locked the deadbolt, sliding down the door, tears mixing with the rain on my face.
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But at 3:00 AM, the lock clicked open. I shot up from my bed, grabbing the baseball bat I kept under it. The door swung open, and the hallway light illuminated Mateo's massive frame. He stepped inside, filling my tiny living room, looking completely out of place in his tailored suit.
"Pack a bag," he said, his gray eyes scanning my pathetic surroundings. "You aren't safe here anymore."
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