Chapter 2 - Echoes of Ribera
The private dinner lasted three hours, during which Tessa moved around Table Four like a ghost. She served plates of roasted rack of lamb, handmade pappardelle with wild boar ragù, and poured glass after glass of heavy, dark vintage wines imported directly from the slopes of Mount Etna.
Throughout the night, Salvatore spoke incessantly. He complained about the decline of honor among the local families, the disrespect of the younger generation, and the harsh cold of Chicago’s wind. But every time Tessa approached the table to clear a plate or refresh a drink, the old man stopped talking to his son and spoke directly to her in Sicilian.
He asked her about her great-grandmother, testing her knowledge of old proverbs, traditions, and family names from the region of Agrigento. Tessa answered each question with brief, respectful accuracy. She didn't embellish. She didn't seek his favor. She simply provided the answers her Nonna Rosa had drilled into her mind during long afternoons spent rolling pasta dough in a tiny, cramped kitchen in south Chicago.
By the time the final espressos were cleared and the dining room doors were unlocked to let the crisp autumn night air flow in, Tessa’s feet were aching, and her lower back felt like a tightly wound wire.
In the back office, David Mercer was pacing back and forth, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. When Tessa walked in to turn in her shift report, David grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes wide.
“What was that, Tessa?” he demanded, his voice cracking slightly. “What did you say to Don Salvatore? Do you have any idea who that old man is? He used to run half of Western Europe’s shipping lanes! Men have been thrown into the Chicago River for looking at him the wrong way!”
“I just greeted him, David,” Tessa said tiredly, gently pulling herself out of his grip. “My great-grandmother was from his region. He was homesick. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” David laughed hysterically. “He left a three-thousand-dollar cash tip on the table and told me that if anyone in this restaurant ever disrespected you, he’d turn this place into a parking lot! That’s not 'nothing'! Mateo Vitiello is watching you now, Tessa. You can’t just be a regular waitress anymore.”
Tessa felt a cold wave of dread wash over her. “I don't want a three-thousand-dollar tip, David. I don't want special attention. I just want my paycheck, my nursing hours, and to be left alone.”
“Well, you can throw that dream out the window,” David said, gesturing toward the front entrance. “Mateo is waiting outside near his car. He wants to see you before you leave.”
Tessa’s breath caught in her throat. “It’s past midnight. My shift is over.”
“You don't say 'no' to Mateo Vitiello, Tessa. You know that. Go out there, say goodnight, and don't ruin this for the rest of us.”
Tessa closed her eyes for a brief second, taking a long, deep breath to steady her pulse. She walked to the employee locker room, pulled off her black server apron, and wrapped herself in her worn, faded beige trench coat. It was a cheap coat, slightly frayed at the cuffs, bought from a second-hand shop two winters ago, but it kept the bitter lake wind away.
She walked out through the side exit of Bellori into the narrow, damp alleyway that led to the main street.
The alley was dark, illuminated only by the faint orange glow of a single streetlamp at the corner. Parked at the curb was a sleek, jet-black armored SUV with dark tinted windows. Standing beside the rear door, his coat collar turned up against the wind, was Mateo Vitiello.
He was alone. His bodyguards were nowhere in sight, though Tessa suspected they were nearby, hidden in the shadows or sitting in another vehicle down the block.
When Mateo heard her sensible flat shoes clicking against the wet pavement, he turned his head. The dim streetlamp cast sharp angles across his face, accentuating his strong jawline and the intense, piercing quality of his grey eyes.
“Miss Hayes,” he said, his voice smooth and low against the rustle of the autumn leaves.
Tessa stopped five feet away from him, keeping her hands tucked deep inside the pockets of her trench coat. “Mr. Vitiello. David said you wanted to speak with me.”
Mateo didn't answer immediately. He looked her up and down, taking in her simple coat, her tired posture, and the dark circles under her dark eyes.
“My father hasn't smiled like that in five years,” Mateo said quietly. “Not since my mother passed away in Palermo. He hates America. He hates the food, he hates the weather, and he hates the people. But tonight, for three hours, he felt like he was back in his youth.”
“I’m glad he enjoyed his meal,” Tessa said, keeping her tone strictly professional. “Bellori prides itself on service.”
“Don't give the restaurant credit for what you did,” Mateo said, stepping an inch closer. The faint scent of cedarwood drifted toward her again. “You gave him something money couldn't buy. You gave him a piece of his home.”
“It wasn't a strategy, Mr. Vitiello,” Tessa said softly, meeting his gaze. “It was just politeness. Where I come from, when an old man speaks, you listen. If you know his language, you answer.”
Mateo studied her face, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit or ambition. “Where you come from? You live in a crumbling apartment on 14th Street, don't you? You work forty hours a week here, and you spend another thirty hours at the university hospital doing clinical rotations for nursing.”
Tessa felt a sudden spike of anger, hot and sharp in her chest. She took a step forward, forgetting her caution for a moment. “Have you been investigating me?”
“I investigate everyone who comes within ten feet of my family,” Mateo said without a trace of apology. “It’s how I keep my father alive. It’s how I stay alive.”
“I’m a waitress,” she snapped, her voice trembling slightly. “I clean up spilled wine and deliver steaks. I don't care about your family, your business, or your money. I just want to finish school, pay my rent, and live my life.”
“I know,” Mateo said calmly. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”
Tessa frowned, confused by his response. “Dangerous?”
“In my world, everyone wants something,” Mateo explained, his tone dropping an octave. “They want power, they want money, they want protection, or they want revenge. When someone wants nothing, it means I can't buy them. It means I can't control them. And when my father decides he likes someone who cannot be controlled, it creates a complication.”
“I am not a complication,” Tessa said firmly. “I am going home. I have an eight-o'clock class tomorrow morning, and I’ve slept ten hours total this week. Goodnight, Mr. Vitiello.”
She turned to walk away, but Mateo reached out, his long fingers gently catching her by the elbow. His grip was surprisingly gentle, yet firm enough to halt her in her tracks. Heat radiated through the fabric of her coat where his hand touched her.
“Wait,” he said.
Tessa stopped, looking down at his hand, then up into his grey eyes. “Let go of me, please.”
Mateo released her arm immediately, stepping back and raising his hands slightly in a rare gesture of surrender.
“My father wants you to attend Sunday dinner at the estate in Lake Forest,” Mateo said, his voice flat, revealing no personal opinion on the matter.
Tessa felt her blood run cold. “No. Absolute not. I work on Sundays.”
“I’ve already bought out the restaurant for the entire day,” Mateo said plainly. “David Mercer has already cleared your schedule. You will be paid double your normal weekly wage just for showing up.”
“You can’t just buy my time!” Tessa said, her voice rising in frustration. “I have a life, Mr. Vitiello! I am not one of your employees! I don't work for the Vitiello family!”
“I am aware of that,” Mateo said, his eyes darkening with a complex emotion she couldn't quite decipher. “And I didn't want to bring you into this. But my father is old, Tessa. His heart is failing. The doctors give him less than a year. He hasn't asked for anything in months except to go back to Sicily. He can't travel anymore. His body won't survive the flight.”
He stepped closer to her, his shadow falling over her small frame.
“He wants to hear his language one more time,” Mateo whispered. “He wants to talk about Ribera with someone who doesn't look at him with fear or greed. Just one afternoon. That’s all I’m asking.”
Tessa stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. Beneath the sharp suit, the formidable reputation, and the dangerous air that surrounded him, Mateo Vitiello was simply a son watching his father fade away.
She closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Her great-grandmother had died in a cold hospital room, surrounded by nurses who didn't understand a word of the old language she cried out in during her final hours. Tessa remembered the pain of that isolation—the terror of being trapped in a world where no one understood the rhythm of your home.
When she opened her eyes, Mateo was still watching her, waiting for her answer.
“One afternoon,” Tessa said softly, her voice laced with reluctant acceptance. “No money. No special favors. Just dinner. And after Sunday, you leave me alone, Mr. Vitiello. You go back to your world, and you let me stay in mine.”
Mateo looked at her for a long moment, then slowly gave a single, firm nod. “Agreed. A driver will pick you up at one o'clock on Sunday.”
“I’ll take the train,” she said immediately.
May you like
“You’ll take the driver,” Mateo countered, his tone firm once more, leaving no room for argument. “The neighborhood you live in isn't safe at night, Tessa. And whether you like it or not, you are now someone my father cares about. That means my enemies might take an interest in you too.”
Before she could process the terrifying weight of his words, Mateo opened the door of his armored SUV, stepped inside, and closed it shut. The dark vehicle pulled away from the curb, its red taillights disappearing into the thick Chicago fog, leaving Tessa standing alone in the damp alleyway, her heart pounding with a strange, foreboding heat.
