Chapter 2 - ROSA
“Rosa.”
The spoon stopped halfway back to the bowl.
I stared at Gabriel Hayes.
“What?”
His eyes did not leave the stew.
“Who taught you this?”
My pulse changed.
Five armed men stood around the diner.
Benny had disappeared into the kitchen after nearly dropping a plate from shaking.
Rain hit the windows.
And the most feared man in the city was staring at a bowl of stew like it had opened a grave.
“A woman named Rosa.”
Gabriel’s face went completely still.
“Last name.”
I hesitated.
Why?
Because dangerous men asking for full names rarely lead to good things.
“Why?”
Leo shifted near the counter.
Gabriel looked at me.
Not angry.
Something worse.
Afraid.
“Last name.”
I folded my arms.
“No.”
Every man in the diner stopped breathing.
Gabriel looked up slowly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
His eyes sharpened.
I should have been terrified.
I was.
But fear had already been running my life for years.
My mother’s unpaid bills.
Nursing tuition.
Rent.
Double shifts.
Fear was not new enough to impress me.
“If you tell me why you want her name, I’ll decide whether to answer.”
Leo looked at me like I had just slapped a bear.
Gabriel set down the spoon.
“I knew a Rosa.”
“That narrows it down.”
“She made this.”
I looked at the bowl.
“No. I made that.”
A tiny change around his mouth.
Almost a smile.
Good.
He needed to come back into the room.
“I mean the recipe.”
“Then maybe you knew the same woman.”
“Last name.”
I sighed.
“Alvarez.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
That was answer enough.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He opened his eyes.
“Sit.”
I stared.
He corrected himself.
“Would you sit?”
Better.
I slid into the opposite side of the booth.
Leo moved as if to follow.
Gabriel lifted one hand.
“Give us space.”
Leo hesitated.
Then backed toward the counter.
Not outside.
Good.
Gabriel looked at me.
“Rosa Alvarez lived in a building on Copley Street when I was a kid.”
My stomach tightened.
“She lived there when I was a kid too.”
“What building?”
“Fourteen Copley.”
His face changed.
“Fourth floor?”
“Yes.”
“Apartment 4B.”
Now I stopped breathing.
“You knew her there?”
Gabriel stared at the stew.
“When I was eight.”
I was nine when Rosa watched me after school.
Thirty years apart? No.
Gabriel was thirty-eight.
I was twenty-four.
Fourteen years difference.
If he knew Rosa at eight, that was thirty years ago.
If I knew her at nine, that was fifteen years ago.
Possible.
“Was she old when you knew her?”
I asked.
He almost smiled.
“I thought she was ancient.”
“How old?”
“Probably forty.”
I pictured Rosa when I was nine.
Gray at the temples.
Strong hands.
Maybe mid-fifties.
It fit.
“What was she to you?”
Gabriel’s face closed.
There.
Wall.
“You asked for my answer.”
“And gave yours.”
“Not yet.”
Fair.
He looked toward the window.
“When my mother worked nights, Rosa fed me.”
The words sounded simple.
They were not.
“Your mother?”
“Maria Hayes.”
I had never heard the name.
Public stories about Gabriel began when he was in his twenties.
Nothing about childhood.
Nothing about a woman named Maria.
“She cooked this?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
“Almost.”
He picked up the spoon again.
“Taste.”
I did.
Warm.
Beef.
Wine.
Thyme.
Cinnamon.
Maybe too much black pepper.
“What’s different?”
“Orange peel.”
I stared.
Rosa had used orange peel when she cooked at home.
Not at Benny’s.
We had no oranges.
“You’re right.”
His hand tightened around the spoon.
“She always added it at the end.”
He looked toward the kitchen like he could somehow see thirty years through a swinging metal door.
“She used to say cinnamon was for the soul.”
My throat tightened.
“And thyme was for the dirt.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
Same sentence.
Same woman.
“Where is she?”
Gabriel asked.
I looked down.
“I don’t know.”
His face changed.
“You said she watched you.”
“When I was a kid.”
“Then?”
“My mother moved us after our building was sold.”
“Rosa?”
“She stayed.”
“Did you keep contact?”
“For a while.”
“How long?”
“Until I was fifteen.”
“Then?”
I hated this part.
“She stopped answering.”
His jaw hardened.
“You never checked?”
“I was fifteen.”
That shut him up.
Good.
I continued.
“My mother went back once. Apartment empty. Landlord said Rosa moved.”
“Where?”
“They didn’t know.”
Gabriel looked toward Leo.
“Find—”
I cut in.
“No.”
Every head turned.
His face hardened.
“What?”
“You do not send men to find an elderly woman because a stew reminded you of childhood.”
His eyes flashed.
“She may know—”
“Know what?”
Silence.
There.
Not nostalgia only.
Something else.
I leaned forward.
“What do you think she knows?”
Gabriel’s fingers loosened around the spoon.
“My mother died when I was eleven.”
I swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
Not cruel.
Automatic.
He looked at the bowl.
“Officially, overdose.”
My nursing brain shifted.
“What kind?”
“Prescription sedatives.”
“Accidental?”
“That’s what police said.”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.”
There.
Thirty years of suspicion.
“Why?”
“Because she hated pills.”
“That doesn’t prove—”
“I know.”
Good.
He knew evidence.
“Rosa was the last person who saw her alive.”
My skin prickled.
“And then?”
“Rosa disappeared from my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“She stopped taking my calls.”
“You were eleven.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe she was scared.”
“Of what?”
I looked around at the men.
“Your family?”
His eyes changed.
Good.
He had considered it.
“Who raised you?”
“My uncle Vincent.”
I knew that name.
Vincent Hayes.
Killed in a car bombing twenty-two years earlier.
Gabriel inherited pieces of his network later.
“Did he know Rosa?”
“Yes.”
“Like her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she told my mother to leave him.”
There.
Not Gabriel.
Vincent.
Maybe old violence.
Maybe Maria was trapped near it.
Gabriel took another bite.
Then another.
Slow.
Not ravenous.
Careful.
His hand trembled less.
Leo noticed.
Everyone noticed.
No one said anything.
I did.
“You’re going to make yourself sick if you eat too fast.”
Five men stared at me.
Gabriel looked at the stew.
Then at me.
“You’re telling me to slow down?”
“Yes.”
“After eight days?”
“Especially after eight days.”
His expression hardened.
“What are you, a doctor?”
“No.”
“Nurse?”
“Student.”
That surprised him.
“You’re in nursing school.”
“Trying.”
“Why diner?”
“Because nursing school does not pay rent.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“Why work nights while studying?”
“Money.”
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“Nothing is that simple.”
“My mother is sick.”
There.
I said it because somehow the room had become honest.
“What illness?”
“That is none of your business.”
He nodded.
Good.
Then he finished half the bowl.
Stopped.
Set down the spoon.
Enough.
I was relieved.
His body needed calories.
Also fluids.
Also probably electrolytes.
Maybe medical assessment if he truly ate almost nothing for eight days.
“You need a doctor.”
Gabriel’s face shut immediately.
“No.”
“Then at least somebody with a blood-pressure cuff.”
“No.”
“You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m sitting.”
“Excellent observation.”
Leo coughed to hide a laugh.
Gabriel stared at him.
Then back at me.
“Why do you care?”
I looked at him.
Because he looked broken.
Because Rosa fed him.
Because I had watched too many people pretend symptoms would disappear if ignored.
“Because starvation is stupid.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Noted.”
“And because whatever happened to Paulie, you do not know that food caused it.”
His face changed.
“His toxicology—”
“You have toxicology?”
“No final report.”
“Then you don’t know.”
“He collapsed while eating.”
“That is timing, not cause.”
He stared.
Nursing school.
Basic.
Correlation is not diagnosis.
“Did anyone else eat the risotto?”
“Yes.”
“Did they get sick?”
“No.”
“That matters.”
His jaw tightened.
“The poison could have been in his portion.”
“Yes.”
“Or?”
“Medication. drink. supplement. something before dinner.”
Silence.
I continued.
“Did Paulie have health problems?”
“High blood pressure.”
“Medication?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
He looked annoyed.
Good.
Annoyance meant thinking.
Leo stepped closer.
“Boss.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“Call Dr. Mercer.”
Not private chef.
Doctor.
Good.
Then:
“Tell him to come here.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Gabriel stared.
“What now?”
“This is a diner.”
“So?”
“You brought armed men, cleared customers, locked doors, threatened Benny’s hands, and now you’re turning Booth Six into a clinic.”
His face changed.
Not anger.
Embarrassment.
Maybe.
I continued.
“Go to a hospital.”
“No.”
“Urgent care.”
“No.”
“Doctor’s office.”
“Closed.”
“Your private doctor’s office.”
He paused.
Good.
“Fine.”
Leo looked shocked.
Gabriel stood.
Too fast.
His face drained.
One hand hit the table.
I moved without thinking.
Not touching him.
Close.
“Sit.”
He did.
That frightened everyone more than if he had fallen.
I looked at Leo.
“Water. Sealed bottle.”
Leo grabbed one.
I checked the cap.
Unbroken.
Handed it to Gabriel.
He stared.
“Open it yourself.”
He did.
Took a sip.
Then another.
His hands shook.
Panic and weakness can look alike.
Sometimes both.
“Slow.”
He glared.
Still obeyed.
Five minutes later, he stood again.
Better.
At the door, he looked back at me.
“How much do you make tonight?”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I shut down the diner.”
I looked around.
Benny had lost customers.
Tips.
Hours.
“That’s your problem.”
“Yes.”
Good.
He looked at Benny.
“You’ll be compensated for the closure.”
Benny nodded too fast.
I said:
“Through normal business payment.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“What?”
“No cash envelope that turns into a story.”
Leo actually smiled.
Gabriel sighed.
“Invoice my office.”
Benny looked like he might faint.
Better.
Then Gabriel looked at me.
“Norah Bennett.”
I froze.
I had told Benny my name, not Gabriel? Chapter 1 narrator gives name but did she tell? Not directly. Maybe name tag. Yes waitress likely name tag. We can make he read it.
His eyes dropped briefly to my name tag.
“Norah Bennett.”
Better.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for the stew.”
Not:
You saved me.
Good.
“You’re welcome.”
He left.
The black SUVs disappeared into rain.
Benny unlocked the door.
The diner felt too quiet.
Then he turned to me.
“You told Gabriel Hayes no six times.”
“Seven.”
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
He stared at the half-finished bowl.
Then at me.
“What happens now?”
I looked at the empty booth.
No idea.
Across town, Gabriel Hayes sat in the back of his SUV and did something he had not done in eight days.
He asked for food to be packed for later.
Then Leo’s phone rang.
The private doctor.
Preliminary toxicology on Paulie had just come in.
The poison had not been found in the risotto.
May you like
It had been found in something Paulie swallowed every morning.
His blood-pressure medication.
