🧥 The Waitress Who Wore the Mafia Boss’s Jacket

Chapter 06 - The Girl in the Fire Report

Victor arrived twelve minutes after I called the number on his card.

Not twenty. Not thirty. Twelve.

He stepped into our apartment wearing no overcoat, as if winter were something that happened to weaker men. Marco followed him. My mother stood in the kitchen doorway with the locked drawer key closed in her fist.

For one strange second, nobody spoke.

Then Victor looked at my mother.

“Mrs. Martinez.”

She lifted her chin. “Mr. DeLuca.”

“You remember me.”

“I remember your sister.”

His face did not move.

But the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

I learned that night that grief can survive inside a powerful man without making him softer. Sometimes it hardens around the original wound, making everything beyond it sharp.

My mother led us to her room.

The sewing table stood beneath the window. Its wood was scratched, one leg repaired twice. She unlocked the narrow drawer and removed a red recipe tin.

“Recipes?” I asked, because I needed something ordinary to be true.

“Your grandmother’s mole recipe is on top.”

She handed the tin to Victor.

Inside, beneath the recipe card, were folded documents sealed in plastic. Old bank transfers. Inspection reports. A photocopy of a lease. A photograph of a young woman with dark hair standing in front of a brick building, laughing into the wind.

Victor took the photograph first.

His thumb stopped at the woman’s face.

“Lucia.”

He said the name like a man stepping onto ice.

“She came to the office twice,” my mother said quietly. “She wanted to know who owned the building. She said her landlord ignored everything. Heat, rats, fire escape. She was trying to organize tenants.”

Victor’s eyes closed.

My mother continued. “I gave her copies of the complaints.”

“You never told me.”

“I was twenty-six and terrified. Caldwell already knew I’d been looking. Your family was dangerous too.”

His eyes opened.

“She died six days later.”

“Yes.”

Silence pressed against the walls.

I picked up another page. It was a fire department summary, stamped and signed. Several lines had been blacked out.

“What is this?”

Victor looked.

His expression changed.

“Where did you get that?”

“From a clerk who felt guilty,” my mother said. “He said the original report named faulty wiring in the basement. Caldwell’s people changed it to tenant negligence.”

“Why keep it hidden?” I asked.

“Because two days after I copied it, your father vanished.”

I hated that the truth made sense.

It would have been easier if my father had been weak. Weak people can be resented. Brave people who disappear leave rooms behind that never get filled.

Victor placed the photograph back into the tin.

“Caldwell wanted the documents tonight.”

My mother nodded.

“Why use Ethan?” I asked. “Why not break in?”

Victor answered. “Because if you created a scene at Marcelline, Caldwell could pressure you. Fire you. Isolate you. Make you desperate enough to sign anything or accept a settlement. Then someone approaches with money.”

My stomach turned.

“Money for what?”

My mother looked at the tin.

“For the drawer.”

A knock sounded at the apartment door.

Not a polite knock.

Three hard strikes.

Marco moved before anyone else did.

Victor held up one hand. Everyone stopped.

“Anna,” he said quietly, “go to your mother’s room.”

“No.”

His eyes turned to mine.