PART 2 — THE MAN WHO CALLED HER HIS WIFE

“Alby.”

Vincent said the name as though greeting an old friend.

The older man’s expression barely changed.

“Still enjoying expensive dinners, Moretti?”

Vincent glanced at Nora.

“Anniversary. My wife insisted.”

Nora nearly choked on her wine.

Wife.

She wanted to kick him beneath the table.

Instead, she placed her free hand over his and managed a smile.

“Vincent always exaggerates,” she said. “He wanted to celebrate three weeks early because he can’t keep a calendar.”

One of the younger men looked at her.

“Three weeks?”

Nora smiled wider.

“Unfortunately, my husband is better at remembering other people’s birthdays than his own anniversary.”

Vincent gave a quiet laugh.

It sounded remarkably genuine.

“That’s why I married her. She keeps me humble.”

Alby didn’t smile.

His eyes moved from Vincent’s face to their joined hands.

Then he pulled out the chair beside them.

“May I?”

“Actually,” Vincent replied, “we were just about to order dessert.”

“Then I’ll be quick.”

Alby sat down.

The two younger men remained standing.

One positioned himself near the aisle.

The other blocked the route toward the restaurant entrance.

Nora’s stomach тιԍнтened.

She could feel Vincent’s fingers pressing against hers beneath the table.

Not painfully.

Deliberately.

A warning.

Alby leaned forward.

“There’s been a misunderstanding.”

Vincent reached for the wine bottle.

“Misunderstandings are expensive. Tell me how much yours will cost.”

“I’m looking for something that belongs to me.”

“Try the lost-property office.”

Alby finally glanced at Nora.

“Your wife has a sense of humor.”

“She has many qualities.”

“Does she know what you do?”

Vincent poured wine into his glᴀss.

“She knows enough.”

“Does she know about the warehouse on Mercer Street?”

The glᴀss stopped halfway to his lips.

Nora noticed.

So did Alby.

A small smile appeared on the older man’s face.

“There it is.”

Vincent placed the glᴀss down.

“You’ve had a long evening, Alby. Go home.”

“Not without the ledger.”

Nora looked at Vincent.

His expression remained unchanged.

But something had shifted.

The tenderness had disappeared from his eyes.

“What ledger?” Vincent asked.

Alby gave a quiet laugh.

“Come on. We don’t have to pretend with each other.”

Vincent leaned back.

“That’s unfortunate. I was enjoying pretending.”

The younger man near the aisle moved closer.

Alby lowered his voice.

“Your brother’s people have already started asking questions. They know what happened at the docks.”

Vincent’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“My brother has been ᴅᴇᴀᴅ for eight years.”

“And yet his mistakes are still costing us money.”

Nora felt the atmosphere change.

This was no ordinary business disagreement.

Alby reached into his jacket.

Vincent immediately moved his hand beneath the table.

Nora stopped breathing.

Then the older man produced a pH๏τograph.

He pushed it across the white tablecloth.

“Recognize this?”

It showed a warehouse.

One of its windows was shattered.

A dark vehicle sat outside.

Vincent barely glanced at it.

“Your pH๏τography skills haven’t improved.”

“Look at the second pH๏τograph.”

Alby placed another image beside the first.

This one showed a woman leaving an apartment building.

Nora leaned forward despite herself.

The woman looked familiar.

Short brown hair.

A beige coat.

A black handbag.

It took her a second to recognize the face.

Then her blood turned cold.

It was her.

Nora.

The pH๏τograph had been taken outside her apartment building.

“When was this taken?” she whispered.

Alby smiled.

“Yesterday afternoon.”

Vincent’s hand тιԍнтened around hers.

“Put it away.”

“Why? Your wife seems interested.”

“She’s not part of this.”

“Then why were you at her apartment?”

Nora turned sharply toward Vincent.

He didn’t look at her.

Alby stood.

“Midnight, Moretti. You have until midnight to return what belongs to us.”

He leaned closer.

“And bring the girl.”

Vincent looked up.

His voice was so quiet that Nora almost didn’t hear it.

“Touch her, and there won’t be enough left of you to bury.”

Alby’s smile vanished.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other.

Then Alby straightened his jacket.

“Enjoy your anniversary.”

He turned and walked away.

The other two followed him.

Nora waited until the restaurant doors closed.

Then she pulled her hand free.

“Who the hell are you?”

Vincent reached for his glᴀss.

“Someone having a difficult evening.”

“Don’t.”

He looked at her.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t sit there drinking wine as though three men haven’t just shown me a pH๏τograph of myself outside my apartment.”

Vincent signaled to the waiter.

“Bring the check.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Every word.”

“Then explain why that man knows where I live.”

The waiter approached.

Vincent paid with a black card.

He stood and offered Nora his hand.

She didn’t take it.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He lowered his voice.

“Those men are waiting outside.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“They already know which officers are on my payroll.”

Nora stared at him.

“That’s not reᴀssuring.”

“It wasn’t intended to be.”

He reached into his jacket and placed a small black card beside her glᴀss.

An address was printed on it.

“There’s a private entrance through the kitchen. A driver is waiting at the service exit. He’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“And you?”

“I’ll make sure they follow the wrong car.”

Nora looked at the card.

“Why are you helping me?”

Vincent studied her face.

“Because they pH๏τographed you before I ever walked into this restaurant.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No. It’s the only one I can give you here.”

He started toward the kitchen.

Nora followed, keeping several steps between them.

They pᴀssed through a narrow corridor filled with the smell of garlic and H๏τ ʙuттer.

A dishwasher looked up.

Vincent said something in Italian.

The man immediately opened a service door.

Cold rain swept inside.

A black sedan waited beside the loading entrance.

Vincent opened the pᴀssenger door.

Nora stopped.

“I want my phone.”

“It’s in your handbag.”

She reached inside.

There was a new message.

Unknown number.

Three words.

ASK HIM ABOUT ETHAN.

Nora’s fingers went numb.

Ethan.

Her former fiancé.

The man who had packed his belongings on Sunday and disappeared without explaining where he was going.

She looked up.

Vincent was watching her.

“You know Ethan?”

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

But enough.

“Get in the car, Nora.”

“Tell me.”

“Not here.”

“Did you do something to him?”

Vincent’s eyes became colder.

“Ethan Vale stole something from people who don’t forgive theft.”

Nora felt her knees weaken.

“What did he steal?”

Vincent looked toward the dark street.

“Something he should never have touched.”

She climbed into the car.

Before Vincent closed the door, he leaned down.

“And Nora?”

“What?”

“Whatever Ethan told you about leaving because he no longer loved you…”

He paused.

“It was a lie.”

Then the door closed.

And as the sedan pulled away, Nora saw Vincent standing alone in the rain, watching a second black vehicle turn into the alley.

The driver glanced at her in the mirror.

“Miss Warren?”

She turned.

“How do you know my name?”

The man didn’t answer.

Instead, he handed her a sealed envelope.

Her name was written across the front in handwriting she recognized immediately.

Ethan’s.

Inside was a single sentence.

If Vincent Moretti finds you, it means he finally knows what I left inside your engagement ring.

Nora looked down at her left hand.

The ring was still there.

And for the first time, she noticed the tiny red stone hidden beneath the diamond.