Chapter 3 - HANNAH REED DOES NOT WORK FOR GABRIEL MORETTI
Gabriel went to Aurelia the next morning at eleven.
Not with ten men.
Not after closing.
Not through the kitchen entrance.
He went with Helena.
That was what progress looked like after forty-one years of poor habits.
Hannah was polishing glassware before lunch service.
She saw him.
Her shoulders tightened.
Then she looked at Helena and relaxed slightly.
Interesting.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Hannah.”
Colin approached.
“Private office?”
Hannah immediately said:
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She folded the cloth.
“If this is about Lucia, we can talk here before service.”
Gabriel understood.
Open room.
Witnesses.
A man with a reputation asking a waitress questions.
Good boundary.
“Fine.”
They sat at a side table.
Helena explained the digital edit and Marcella footage.
Hannah stared.
“You think someone tried to trigger Lucia’s allergy?”
“We don’t know,” Helena said.
Good.
No exaggeration.
“We know the warning was deliberately removed from the service-facing note.”
Hannah’s expression hardened.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean they wanted her exposed.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“No?”
“It could mean someone wanted your table to have a problem.”
“A problem that can kill a child.”
“Yes.”
She did not soften the word.
He respected that.
Hannah continued.
“Could Marcella access Colin’s login?”
Colin answered.
“Anyone who saw him enter it.”
“That password was four digits.”
Colin looked ashamed.
“Was.”
Hannah turned to Helena.
“The service tablet near my section doesn’t lock automatically.”
Colin looked worse.
“Also fixed.”
Gabriel said:
“You’re very comfortable criticizing your employer.”
Hannah looked at him.
“He’s very comfortable being wrong.”
Colin sighed.
“She’s my best server.”
“Then why wasn’t she assigned my table?”
Silence.
Hannah’s face changed.
Colin’s did too.
There it was.
Gabriel had noticed.
He waited.
Colin answered carefully.
“We try to match staff to certain dining-room expectations.”
Hannah looked at the ceiling.
Gabriel’s voice went cold.
“What expectations?”
“Gabriel,” Helena warned.
He ignored her.
Colin swallowed.
“Hannah is excellent.”
“That was not the question.”
Hannah put down the cloth.
“I can answer.”
Gabriel looked at her.
She was not embarrassed.
Angry.
Better.
“Some VIP guests like a certain aesthetic.”
The word sat there.
Gabriel looked at her body.
Then immediately hated that the answer required him to understand.
Hannah saw.
“Yes.”
She leaned back.
“I’m fat.”
No apology.
No euphemism.
“Some managers think wealthy people want thin, young women serving the visible tables.”
Colin looked miserable.
“I did not say—”
“You said aesthetic.”
Hannah shrugged.
“I know what it means.”
Gabriel felt anger.
Not savior anger.
That would be insulting.
Institutional irritation.
Colin had hidden his best Italian-speaking server from a table with an Italian-speaking child because she did not fit an image.
That failure nearly mattered medically.
He looked at Hannah.
“You should have had the table.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Because I speak Italian.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He understood the correction.
Not because of gratitude.
Not because he liked her.
Skill.
Colin said quietly:
“We’re reviewing assignment practices.”
Hannah looked at him.
“Now.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
No inspirational speech.
Just workplace consequence.
Helena brought them back.
“Did you see Marcella Vieri before service?”
Hannah studied the still image.
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask about the Moretti reservation?”
Hannah thought.
“One person.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Who?”
“A man called the host stand around four.”
Colin frowned.
“You heard?”
“I was folding napkins.”
“What did he ask?”
“Whether the Italian child had arrived.”
Gabriel’s blood turned cold.
“Exact words?”
“Has the Italian girl arrived with Moretti?”
Helena wrote.
“Caller ID?”
Colin checked archived call logs.
Blocked.
Hannah continued.
“The hostess said dinner service started at five-thirty and she couldn’t confirm guests.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“He asked whether you still used the private west entrance.”
Gabriel went still.
“I didn’t.”
“I know. Colin said you requested main entrance because the children had never seen the dining room.”
Gabriel looked at Colin.
He had forgotten making that request.
Maybe one good decision.
The caller expected Gabriel to use old habits.
Private entrance.
Controlled table.
Predictable movement.
Helena said:
“So Marcella may have been checking access.”
Hannah frowned.
“For what?”
No one knew.
The allergy could be target.
Distraction.
Accident weaponized after opportunity.
Too early.
Gabriel looked at Hannah.
“Lucia wants to see you.”
Her face softened.
“How is she?”
“Angry at pesto.”
Hannah smiled.
“Reasonable.”
“She asked if you can teach me Italian.”
Hannah laughed.
Actually laughed.
Colin looked startled.
Gabriel waited.
“I’m serious.”
“That makes it funnier.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a waitress, not a language tutor.”
“You speak Italian.”
“I also make cappuccino. I’m not opening a café in your house.”
Fair.
He nodded.
“Then no.”
Hannah’s smile faded slightly.
Surprise.
He stood.
“Thank you.”
“For translating?”
“For listening.”
That landed.
She looked at him.
Then:
“Read the allergy plan every time it changes.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
Not from anger.
Shame.
“Yes.”
“And teach Nicholas where the injectors are.”
“Yes.”
“And Lucia should know she can tell any adult, not just wait for you to understand.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
Hannah stared.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You’re easy today.”
Helena coughed to hide a laugh.
Gabriel looked offended.
“I am always reasonable.”
No one responded.
Insulting.
As he turned to leave, Hannah said:
“Mr. Moretti.”
He looked back.
“I can teach you one thing.”
“What?”
She spoke slowly.
“Ho bisogno che tu me lo dica di nuovo.”
He frowned.
“What does it mean?”
“I need you to tell me again.”
He repeated badly.
She corrected pronunciation.
Again.
Then:
“That’s what you say when you don’t understand Lucia.”
Simple.
Not pretend.
Not slow down like command.
Ask again.
Gabriel repeated it until Hannah nodded.
“Good.”
He left.
At the house, Lucia sat at the kitchen island with a newly replaced pair of epinephrine auto-injectors.
The allergist had seen her that morning.
Gabriel attended.
Every minute.
Lucia noticed.
He hated that she noticed.
He sat beside her.
She spoke in Italian deliberately fast.
He caught nothing.
Nicholas laughed.
Gabriel raised one hand.
Then used Hannah’s sentence.
“Ho bisogno che tu me lo dica di nuovo.”
Lucia froze.
Her face changed.
Then she smiled.
Not wide.
Real.
She repeated slowly.
“I said Nick ate my cookie.”
Nicholas shouted:
“It had my name on it!”
Lucia replied in Italian.
Gabriel understood one word.
Bugiardo.
Liar.
He smiled.
Progress.
That evening, Helena arrived with information on Marcella.
Marcella Vieri had worked for Julian for four years.
Thirty-four.
Born in Turin.
No criminal record.
Excellent employment history.
No obvious reason to harm Lucia.
Her flight reservation to Rome existed.
She never boarded.
Her bank cards stopped being used two days later.
Phone last pinged near O’Hare.
Gabriel stared.
“Missing.”
“Yes.”
“Or hiding.”
“Yes.”
“Does her family know?”
“Her mother in Turin says Marcella called a week before disappearing.”
“What did she say?”
“She was frightened.”
“Of?”
Helena opened notes.
“She said she had learned something about Alessia Moretti’s death.”
Gabriel stopped breathing.
The room changed.
Alessia.
Not Lucia.
The aneurysm.
Sudden.
Milan hospital.
Death certificate.
No suspicion.
“What?”
“Her mother says Marcella used the phrase: Alessia non è morta per caso.”
Gabriel still knew enough Italian.
Alessia did not die by chance.
His hands went cold.
“No.”
Helena held up a hand.
“This is secondhand.”
“No.”
“We verify.”
“She had an aneurysm.”
“Yes.”
“Natural.”
“According to the records we have.”
Gabriel stood.
“No.”
Helena watched.
He forced himself to sit again.
Evidence.
Always evidence.
“What did Marcella know?”
“Unknown.”
“Why would she remove Lucia’s allergy note if she was investigating Alessia?”
“We don’t know that she removed it.”
“Her email said I didn’t know how serious the allergy was.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
Helena thought.
“Maybe she was warning someone.”
The outside email address.
Gabriel frowned.
“Who owns it?”
“Encrypted provider. We’re seeking records.”
“Legally.”
“Yes.”
He hated that she no longer needed to remind him.
Good.
Then Helena said:
“There’s one more thing.”
Of course.
“Alessia changed her will two weeks before she died.”
Gabriel stared.
“Why?”
“Lucia.”
“What about her?”
“Alessia appointed a medical guardian in the event you were unable or unwilling to follow Lucia’s allergy and anxiety plan.”
His face hardened.
“Who?”
Helena looked at the page.
“Marcella Vieri.”
Silence.
Julian’s assistant.
The woman caught inside the restaurant.
The woman now missing.
Alessia trusted her with Lucia’s medical welfare.
That changed the shape of everything.
Gabriel looked toward the kitchen where Lucia and Nicholas argued over cookies.
“If Marcella wanted to hurt her, Alessia made a catastrophic choice.”
“Yes.”
“And if she didn’t?”
Helena leaned back.
“Then someone may want you to think she did.”
Gabriel’s phone vibrated.
A text from Hannah.
Unknown to him before; Lucia had apparently convinced her to send the Italian phrase spelling.
HANNAH: Lucia says you pronounced bisogno like lasagna. She asked me to intervene.
Gabriel stared.
Despite everything, he smiled.
Then another message arrived.
Not Hannah.
Unknown number.
A photograph of Marcella.
Alive.
Holding today’s newspaper.
Below it:
ASK HANNAH REED WHY ALESSIA CALLED HER THREE DAYS BEFORE SHE DIED.
Gabriel’s smile disappeared.
He looked at Helena.
Then at Hannah’s message.
The waitress who happened to hear Lucia.
The woman Alessia apparently called from Milan before dying.
May you like
Gabriel had just spent an hour at her restaurant.
And Hannah had never mentioned knowing his wife.
