Chapter 3: A Debt That Couldn't Be Repaid
Chapter 3: A Debt That Couldn't Be Repaid
"I don't need anything."
The words left my mouth before I had time to think.
Anthony Moretti studied me for several seconds, as though he were trying to decide whether I truly meant them.
Most people, I imagined, saw opportunity when a man like him stood in their living room.
The kind that arrived in black SUVs and carried concealed weapons.
Margaret gently touched her son's arm.
She signed, Leave her alone.
Anthony gave the smallest nod.
"As you wish."
Relief washed over me.
Maybe this strange Christmas morning was finally coming to an end.
I was wrong.
A voice crackled through one of the bodyguards' earpieces.
"Movement on the east side."
Every guard instantly became alert.
Another voice followed.
"Unidentified van approaching."
Anthony's expression hardened in an instant.
The warmth he'd shown his mother disappeared, replaced by the cold authority I'd first seen at the door.
"Get her downstairs."
Within seconds, six guards surrounded Margaret.
She frowned and signed quickly.
I'm not made of glass.
"I know," Anthony replied. "Humor me."
Then he looked at me.
"You need to stay inside."
"What?"
"This building is no longer secure."
I stared at him.
"Because of me?"
"No."
His answer came too quickly.
"Because of me."
Before I could ask another question, tires screeched outside.
One of the guards looked through the hallway window.
"Sir!"
A gray cargo van had stopped across the street.
Its engine remained running.
Nobody got out.
Nobody had to.
Anthony's security team already treated it like a threat.
"Evacuate."
Everything exploded into motion.
Two guards ushered Margaret toward the stairwell.
Others formed a protective line.
Someone handed Anthony a bulletproof vest.
He ignored it.
I stood frozen beside my kitchen table, trying to understand how Christmas morning had turned into something out of an action movie.
Then Anthony looked back.
"Emma."
It startled me that he knew my name.
"I read your employee file."
Of course he had.
"You have a back exit?"
"Yes."
"Take it."
"I'm not leaving my apartment."
His eyes narrowed.
"This isn't a request."
Something inside me pushed back.
"I've lived here five years. I'm not running because someone parked a van outside."
For the first time, he looked genuinely frustrated.
Before he could answer, Margaret signed from the hallway.
She reminds me of Dad.
Anthony actually sighed.
"I know."
Then, incredibly, he looked at me with something that resembled reluctant respect.
"You are unbelievably stubborn."
"So I've been told."
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"So was my father."
Before either of us could say another word, the radio crackled again.
"False alarm."
Everyone froze.
"The driver is making a grocery delivery."
A long silence followed.
One by one, the guards relaxed.
Anthony rubbed the bridge of his nose.
One of the younger security officers looked embarrassed.
"Our mistake, sir."
Anthony nodded once.
"Good."
The tension slowly dissolved.
I finally released the breath I'd been holding.
Margaret returned to the living room and patted my shoulder with an amused smile.
This happens too often.
"I can see that."
She rolled her eyes dramatically toward her son.
He's impossible.
"I heard that," Anthony said.
Good.
Even several bodyguards couldn't suppress quiet smiles.
It was strange.
Outside this apartment, Anthony Moretti was a man whispered about with fear.
Inside, he was simply a son being scolded by his mother.
A few minutes later, the apartment had grown quieter.
Anthony stood near the window while Margaret fed tiny pieces of toast to Biscuit.
I finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been bothering me.
"Can I ask you something?"
Anthony nodded.
"Why wasn't your mother with security yesterday?"
The room became silent again.
Margaret answered before he could.
Because I left.
Anthony closed his eyes briefly.
"I had officers assigned to accompany her to Christmas Eve Mass."
Margaret looked completely unapologetic.
They worried too much.
"You disappeared."
I dismissed them.
"You walked home. During a blizzard."
She shrugged.
I've walked farther.
Anthony looked toward the ceiling as though asking for patience.
I couldn't help laughing.
"My grandmother used to do things like that."
Margaret smiled.
Then she was probably wonderful.
"She still is."
I told them about my grandmother's nursing home.
How Alzheimer's had slowly stolen pieces of the woman who had practically raised me.
How every extra shift at the diner went toward paying bills insurance no longer covered.
When I finished, I realized I'd probably shared too much.
"I'm sorry."
Anthony shook his head.
"Don't apologize for loving your family."
His voice was quieter now.
"I wish I'd spent more time with mine."
Margaret looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Then she reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
For a few seconds, neither of them signed.
Neither of them spoke.
They simply sat together.
It struck me that despite all his wealth, all his power, all the men willing to risk their lives for him...
Anthony looked like someone who had been lonely for a very long time.
Just before noon, I grabbed my diner uniform.
"I should get to work."
Anthony frowned.
"Today?"
"It's Christmas."
"Exactly."
"Holiday pay."
Margaret frowned at me now too.
You deserve one day off.
I smiled.
"My landlord disagrees."
Anthony glanced toward the stack of overdue notices on the counter again.
He said nothing.
Instead, he pulled a business card from his wallet.
It was plain.
No company logo.
Only a phone number.
"If you ever need help..."
I interrupted gently.
"I appreciate it."
"I mean it."
"I know."
I slipped the card into a kitchen drawer without looking at it.
Not because I wanted to insult him.
Because I knew that if I carried it in my pocket, I might someday be tempted to use it.
And I wanted to believe I could still solve my own problems.
Anthony noticed exactly what I'd done.
Instead of looking offended...
He nodded.
"As expected."
Margaret smiled proudly at me.
Never lose that.
"Lose what?"
Your independence.
I promised I wouldn't.
None of us knew that promise would soon be tested.
Because while Anthony's convoy pulled away from my apartment, another car remained parked three blocks away.
Its windows were dark.
Its engine never stopped running.
Inside sat a man with a camera fitted with a telephoto lens.
He lowered it after taking dozens of photographs.
Emma hugging Margaret outside the diner.
Margaret entering Emma's apartment.
Anthony standing inside Emma's doorway.
The photographer picked up his phone.
"They've made contact," he said quietly.
A gravelly voice answered on the other end.
"Good."
"What are your orders?"
There was a pause.
Then came five chilling words.
"Bring me the waitress alive."
May you like
The line went dead.
And somewhere in Buffalo, a decades-old secret had just begun to surface.
