The Waitress Who Spoke With Her Hands—and Changed the Mafia Boss Forever
The Waitress Who Spoke With Her Hands—and Changed the Mafia Boss Forever
Chapter 2: The Secret Buried for Nineteen Years
Roman wanted Harper inside the SUV.
Harper wanted nothing to do with any of it.
“I’m going home.”
“No.”
She stared at him.
“Was that supposed to work?”
“It usually does.”
“Well, tonight must be disappointing.”
Under different circumstances, Roman might have smiled.
He didn’t.
His eyes remained fixed on the threatening note.
Beatrice noticed the broken window but had not seen the message. Harper immediately understood why Roman was positioning himself so his mother couldn’t read his lips.
“You’re hiding it from her.”
“I’m protecting her.”
“Those aren’t always the same thing.”
Roman’s gaze snapped toward Harper.
“Stay out of this.”
“Gladly.”
She handed him Beatrice’s purse.
Then Beatrice stepped out of the SUV.
Roman swore quietly.
His mother signed.
What happened?
Harper looked at Roman. He gave the smallest shake of his head.
Harper disliked being ordered around. She disliked lying to Beatrice even more.
Roman stepped between them.
“Mom.”
Beatrice ignored him. Her eyes remained on Harper.
What happened?
Harper answered carefully.
Someone broke the window.
Why?
I don’t know.
That was true.
Beatrice studied her, then looked at Roman.
Her hands moved.
He’s lying.
Harper nearly smiled despite the tension.
Roman exhaled.
“I’m trying to keep her calm.”
“She knows.”
“I noticed.”
Beatrice stepped toward her son and held out her hand.
Roman hesitated before giving her the note.
She read it.
The color drained from her face.
Roman noticed immediately.
“So you know what this means.”
Beatrice folded the paper.
No.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Mom.”
She repeated herself.
No.
Harper watched them carefully.
The answer was clear, but Beatrice’s eyes told a different story.
She knew something.
Roman knew it too.
The ride to the Moretti residence became unavoidable when police closed part of the block and Harper discovered her handbag was still inside the restaurant.
Roman offered to have someone retrieve it.
Harper reluctantly accepted the ride.
Twenty minutes later, the SUV passed through iron gates surrounding a limestone mansion overlooking the Hudson River.
Harper stared through the window.
“This is your house?”
Roman glanced at her.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I was expecting more gargoyles.”
Beatrice laughed silently when Harper signed the joke.
Roman looked suspicious.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“My mother likes you too much.”
Inside, Harper expected cold marble and intimidating security.
Instead, Beatrice’s rooms felt warm and welcoming.
Books covered the walls. Family photographs stood on almost every available surface.
One showed Roman at eight years old, missing a front tooth.
Harper stared at it.
Roman appeared behind her.
“Don’t.”
“You were adorable.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You had a bowl cut.”
“My mother made decisions.”
Beatrice watched them with obvious delight.
Then Harper noticed another photograph.
A younger Beatrice stood beside a handsome man. Behind them was another boy, perhaps eighteen years old.
Roman noticed where Harper was looking.
“My brother.”
Harper turned.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
The room fell silent.
Harper understood immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“Matteo died fourteen years ago.”
Beatrice lowered her eyes.
Roman walked toward the photograph.
“He was twenty.”
Harper felt a painful connection she hadn’t expected.
“Leo was seventeen.”
Roman looked at her.
For a moment, neither needed translation.
Loss recognized loss.
Then Beatrice touched Harper’s arm.
Her hands moved slowly.
Matteo knew sign language.
Harper looked surprised.
Roman did too.
“You never told me that.”
Beatrice continued signing.
Harper translated reluctantly.
“She says Matteo learned after her hearing began deteriorating.”
Roman stared at his mother.
“When?”
Beatrice answered.
After the accident.
Roman’s expression sharpened.
“What accident?”
Beatrice stopped.
Harper felt tension crawl across the room.
Roman stepped closer.
“Mom, what accident?”
Beatrice turned away.
Roman looked at Harper.
“Ask her.”
“I’m not interrogating your mother.”
“Harper.”
“No.”
