The Car She Said She Would Never Enter
Chapter 03 - The Car She Said She Would Never Enter
Roman answered on the first ring.
“Sadi.”
She hated that he knew.
“My mother has someone outside her apartment.”
Roman’s voice changed.
“Address.”
“I called the police.”
“Address.”
She gave it.
“What did he say?”
“He asked about a key.”
A pause.
“The key you found?”
Sadi looked down.
“How do you know I found one?”
“I didn’t.”
Damn him.
“Arthur dropped it.”
“Don’t touch it again.”
“I used a napkin.”
“Good.”
That single word sounded like approval.
She resented how much she wanted it.
Roman said, “Stay at Belladonna.”
“No.”
“Sadi.”
“I’m going to my mother.”
“Fine.”
She blinked.
“Fine?”
“I’m outside.”
Of course he was.
Thirty seconds later, Sadi stepped into the alley.
A black sedan waited beneath the restaurant’s service light.
Roman opened the rear door from inside.
She stared.
“You planned this.”
“I was on a call in the car.”
“You were watching the entrance.”
“Yes.”
“You are exhausting.”
“I’ve heard.”
She got in.
The decision felt like a betrayal of herself.
The car moved.
One security man drove. The other sat in front.
Roman looked at the key through the folded napkin in Sadi’s palm.
“12-B.”
“You recognize it?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What is it?”
“Old locker designation.”
“At Warehouse Twelve.”
“Yes.”
“My stepfather had the same key.”
Roman looked at her.
“You’re certain?”
“I was seventeen. The police gave us his belongings.”
“What happened to his key?”
“My mother kept it.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s why Bellini sent someone.”
“You think Arthur knows we still have it.”
“I think Arthur is afraid Carlo left something.”
Sadi called her mother.
Police had arrived.
The man was gone.
Five minutes later, Roman’s phone rang.
He listened.
“Description?”
Sadi watched his face.
“Yes.”
He ended the call.
“Who?”
“One of Bellini’s contractors.”
“You know him.”
“I know of him.”
“What does he do?”
Roman looked out the window.
“Problems.”
Sadi laughed without humor.
“That is not an occupation.”
“In some families, it is.”
The car stopped outside her mother’s building.
Two patrol vehicles waited at the curb.
Roman started to get out.
Sadi touched his arm.
He looked down at her hand.
She pulled it back.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“My mother knows the Moretti name from old news stories.”
“So do you.”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Neither do you.”
“Exactly.”
Roman considered this.
Then nodded.
“I’ll wait.”
Sadi got out.
Her mother, Teresa Moretti, was fifty-eight and looked older when frightened.
Kidney disease had hollowed her cheeks. Her silvering hair was tied in a scarf. She sat at the kitchen table with a police officer who seemed twenty-two.
“Sadi.”
Teresa stood.
Sadi hugged her carefully.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Who came?”
“I don’t know.”
She described a man in a navy overcoat.
The officer took notes.
Sadi asked about the old key.
Teresa went still.
“What old key?”
“Carlo’s.”
Her mother looked toward the officer.
Then back.
“We lost it.”
“No.”
“Sadi.”
“Mom.”
The officer sensed the room had changed.
He finished his questions and left.
Teresa locked the door.
Then she whispered:
“Who told you about the key?”
“Arthur Bellini.”
Her mother sat.
“You saw Arthur?”
“Tonight.”
“Why?”
“He was meeting a customer at work.”
“Who?”
Sadi hesitated.
“Roman Moretti.”
Teresa’s face went white.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No.”
She gripped Sadi’s wrist.
“You stay away from him.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo died working for his father.”
“I know he worked at the warehouse.”
“You don’t know what he did there.”
Sadi sat.
“Then tell me.”
Teresa looked toward the dark window.
For years, Sadi had accepted silence around Carlo’s death because grief made questions feel cruel.
Now silence looked different.
“Mom.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“Carlo was not a warehouse supervisor.”
That was the title on every insurance document.
“What was he?”
“An accountant.”
Sadi stared.
“For Moretti Logistics?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you tell me he supervised shipping?”
“Because that was what the police told us to say.”
Her pulse quickened.
“Why?”
Teresa began crying.
Not loudly.
That was worse.
“Carlo found records.”
“What records?”
“Chemicals.”
Sadi felt cold.
“What chemicals?”
“I don’t know.”
“He found illegal dumping?”
“I think so.”
“At Warehouse Twelve?”
“Yes.”
“And he died in a fire there.”
Her mother nodded.
Sadi stood.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Because two days after his funeral, a man came here.”
“Arthur?”
“No.”
Teresa looked toward the window again.
“Roman’s father.”
Vittorio Moretti.
Dead six years now.
A name from old crime articles.
“What did he want?”
“He gave me money.”
Sadi’s stomach turned.
“You took it?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Sadi stared at her mother.
They had spent years struggling.
Medical bills.
Rent.
Sadi leaving law school.
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
“What?”
Teresa’s eyes filled.
“Your tuition.”
Sadi stopped.
“No.”
“And my treatment.”
“No.”
“Sadi—”
“You told me the scholarships covered law school.”
“Some.”
“My student loans—”
“Covered the rest.”
She pressed both hands against the table.
Vittorio Moretti had paid for part of her education.
The family she had just saved from a contract trap.
“Why would he pay you?”
Teresa whispered:
“To keep Carlo’s key.”
Sadi stared.
“What?”
“He said never to give it to Arthur Bellini.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“What was in the locker?”
“I never opened it.”
“Why?”
“Because Vittorio said if anyone knew we had the key, you would be in danger.”
Sadi laughed once, bitterly.
“And you believed a mafia boss.”
“I believed the man who came after my husband was already dead.”
The sentence silenced her.
Teresa stood slowly.
She walked to the pantry.
From behind a loose baseboard, she removed a small metal tin.
Inside lay Carlo’s burned key tag.
12-B.
Sadi compared it with Arthur’s.
Same number.
Different key cuts.
Teresa stared.
“Two keys.”
Sadi’s phone buzzed.
A text from Roman.
POLICE LEFT. MY MAN SAW BELLINI’S CONTRACTOR TWO BLOCKS EAST.
Another message.
DO NOT LEAVE THE BUILDING.
Sadi almost rolled her eyes.
Then a third.
ARTHUR JUST CALLED ME.
She typed:
WHAT DID HE WANT?
Roman replied:
HE SAYS YOUR STEPFATHER STOLE EVIDENCE FROM MY FAMILY.
May you like
Then one final message appeared.
AND HE SAYS YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN OPEN THE LOCKER.
