Chapter 2 - THE SILVER ROSARY
The silence in L’Étoile Noir was so profound you could hear the rain lashing against the Manhattan windows.
Sophie stood perfectly still, the crisp white napkin folded over her arm. She didn’t break eye contact with Alessandro Moretti. Beside him, Camilla Russo’s mouth hung open in shock, her face flushed with a humiliating heat. She looked from Sophie to the menu, realizing the entire dining room had just witnessed a supposedly uneducated waitress casually expose her ignorance.
“Alessandro,” Camilla hissed, her voice trembling with embarrassed rage. “Are you going to let her speak to me like that? Fire her. Get the manager!”
Monsieur Laurent was already rushing over, his face pale and slick with nervous sweat. “Monsieur Moretti, I am so sorry. Sophie is new. She overstepped. I will have her replaced immediately—”
“Leave her right where she is,” Alessandro interrupted. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that made the manager freeze.
Alessandro didn’t look at Camilla. He didn’t look at Laurent. His dark, calculating eyes remained locked on Sophie. He slowly leaned back in his leather chair, tapping his long fingers against the linen tablecloth.
“A Loire Valley blend,” Alessandro said softly, his accent thick and intimidating. “You know your vineyards, Sophie.”
“My father taught me,” Sophie replied, her heart hammering against her ribs. She kept her chin high. She had nothing left to lose tonight.
“Did he?” Alessandro murmured. He reached into the inner pocket of his charcoal suit jacket. For a terrifying second, the two bodyguards standing behind him shifted their weight. But Alessandro didn’t pull a weapon. He pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and dropped them onto the table.
“Dinner is canceled, Camilla,” Alessandro said, standing up.
“What? We just got here!” Camilla shrieked.
“I lost my appetite,” he replied coldly. He buttoned his jacket and stepped closer to Sophie. The scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco wrapped around her. He reached out and gently took the water bottle from her trembling hands.
As he took the bottle, he slipped something heavy and metallic into the pocket of her apron.
“Be careful on your walk home, Miss Dubois,” Alessandro whispered, so quietly only she could hear. “The streets are dangerous for diplomats’ daughters.”
Sophie stopped breathing. He knew.
Before she could respond, he turned and walked out of the restaurant, his bodyguards trailing him. Camilla chased after them, her high heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.
Monsieur Laurent stared at the massive pile of cash left on the table. It was more than Sophie made in three months.
“Take your tip and get out,” Laurent snapped, his voice shaking. “Don’t come back tomorrow.”
Sophie didn’t argue. She grabbed her threadbare coat from the breakroom and ran out into the freezing New York rain.
Her mind was racing. How did the head of the Moretti syndicate know her real last name? Her father, a disgraced French ambassador, had changed their names five years ago when the gambling debts destroyed their lives.
Sophie hurried down the damp steps into her basement apartment in Queens. The lock was sticky, but it gave way.
“Leo?” she called out softly.
A tiny six-year-old boy peeked out from under the worn sofa blanket. His big brown eyes lit up. “Sophie! You’re home early!”
Sophie rushed over and hugged her little brother tightly. Since their father vanished two years ago, leaving them with nothing but enemies, Leo was her entire world. She would scrub floors and starve to keep him safe.
“I brought you something,” Sophie said, pulling a wrapped baguette from her bag. Leo took it eagerly.
As he ate, Sophie reached into her apron pocket to see what Alessandro had hidden there.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was a heavy, antique silver rosary.
Sophie fell to her knees. She recognized the intricate cross immediately. It belonged to her father. He had never taken it off.
Wrapped around the silver beads was a small, stiff piece of paper. She unfolded it with shaking hands.
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It was a train ticket for the midnight express to Montreal.
And scrawled in black ink on the back were three words: They found him.
