Chapter 2 - The Second Drawing
Dante did not touch the paper immediately. He looked at the drawing of the tailor, the yellow measuring tape, and the insect-like oval with six legs.
“Who gave it to him, Lily?” Dante asked quietly.
Lily turned the sheet over. On the reverse side, she had used a black crayon and a dull red pencil. The second drawing was simpler, but the perspective was lower, as if drawn from the height of a small table. It depicted two pairs of trousers. One pair belonged to Falcone—brown wool, frayed at the cuffs. The other pair was charcoal flannel, sharply creased, falling over black oxford shoes with small circular perforations along the seams.
Resting near the waistline of the charcoal trousers was a hand. On the third finger was a silver ring engraved with a split-tailed bird.
Dante knew that ring. It had belonged to his father before it had been given to Victor Romano on the day of the elder Moretti’s funeral.
“He didn’t drop it,” Lily whispered, her fingers tracing the black shoes. “He reached into his pocket, took out the little silver box, and pressed it into Giuseppe’s hand. Giuseppe’s hands shook. He spilled his pins.”
“When did this happen?” Dante asked.
“When Mama was washing the big glass door at the shop,” Lily said. “Three sleeps ago. The man gave me a peppermint. It tasted like smoke, so I put it in the sewer grate.”
Dante looked at the door. Marco stood outside, his broad silhouette visible through the frosted glass. Dante stood up slowly, the fabric of his tailored trousers whispering in the quiet library. He gathered the drawing and replaced it neatly inside Lily’s shoebox.
“You have very good eyes,” Dante said.
“Mama says I look too much,” Lily replied, swinging her legs over the edge of the chair. “She says if you look at people too long, they get angry.”
“Not me,” Dante said. “You may look at whatever you like in this house.”
He walked to the library door and pulled it open. Marco stepped inside, his hand resting instinctively near his lapel.
“Take two men,” Dante said in a low voice that did not travel into the room. “Go to Mulberry Street. Falcone’s shop. Do not enter through the front. Take the service alley behind the bakery. Bring Giuseppe here. If he is not alone, kill the other person and bring Giuseppe anyway.”
Marco nodded once. He did not ask why. He turned on his heel and moved quickly down the gallery toward the garage.
Dante stepped back into the library. Lily was kneeling by the shoebox again, sorting through her drawings by color. Green sheets on the left, yellow in the middle, dark blue on the right. Her focus was absolute, undisturbed by the armed men who passed through the halls or the tension tightening the air of the house.
Elena appeared in the hallway, clutching a damp dusting cloth to her chest. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She hesitated at the open door, terrified to step onto the Persian carpet without permission.
“Señor Moretti,” Elena whispered, her voice trembling. “Please. I can take her home now. We will not come back. You don't have to pay me for the week.”
Dante walked over to the threshold. He stood close enough to see the pulse hammering in Elena’s throat.
“You are not going home today, Mrs. Castellanos,” Dante said calmly. “And you will not ride the subway. There are three guest rooms on the fourth floor that have not been opened since my mother died. You and Lily will stay in the corner room facing the courtyard.”
Elena’s face drained of color. “Are we prisoners, sir?”
May you like
“No,” Dante said, his voice level and flat. “You are the only two people in this city who told me the truth this morning. That makes you very valuable, and right now, very dangerous to someone else.”
***
