Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Docks
Life shifted rapidly over the next three weeks.
My mother’s health improved dramatically. The new medication worked better than Dr. Vance had promised; within twenty days, she was moving around our living room without her oxygen cannula, her color returning, her laughter filling the small apartment once again.
I refused to quit my job at Rosie’s Diner. I kept my morning shifts, taking pride in earning my own living, but I stopped working the late-night double shifts that had broken my spirit.
And every Wednesday night, at exactly 9:00 PM, a sleek black SUV pulled up across the street from Rosie’s.
Alessandro Romano didn't throw coffee cups anymore. He sat at the corner booth near the window, drinking dark roast coffee, reading financial reports while I wiped tables and served late-night pie.
We spoke in short, quiet conversations between my orders. I learned about his childhood in Italy, his rise through the city’s complex shipping networks, and the heavy burden he carried keeping rival families from tearing the waterfront apart. He learned about my father’s farm in Lafayette, my love for old books, and the dreams I had put on hold when my mother fell ill.
There was a strange, undeniable rhythm between us—a quiet bridge built between two people from entirely different worlds.
Then came the third Tuesday of November.
It was raining heavily, a cold downpour pounding against the windows of Rosie’s as I wrapped up my shift at 8:30 PM.
The front door opened, but it wasn't Alessandro.
Victor Russo stepped inside, his raincoat dripping wet on the floor. He didn't smile. His silver hair was disheveled, and his dark eyes were full of grim urgency.
He walked straight toward the back counter where I was tying my coat.
“Clara,” Victor said, his voice dropping low. “You need to come with me.”
I stopped, my heart sinking. “What happened? Is it Alessandro?”
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“The Moretti family made a move on the north pier an hour ago,” Victor explained quickly, glancing toward the window. “There was gunfire. Alessandro was hit in the arm, but he refused to go to a public hospital. He’s at the private safehouse in the Quarter. He’s asking for you.”
My breath caught in my throat. Without a single second of hesitation, I grabbed my purse. “Take me to him.”
