Chapter 3 - The House on Beacon Hill

James Moretti's mother lived in a house that looked nothing like I expected.

No iron gates.

No armed guards standing in the driveway.

No marble lions.

It was a narrow brick townhouse on a quiet Beacon Hill street with a wreath on the door and a ceramic snowman in the window.

I stared at it from the car.

"This is your safe house?"

James opened his door.

"This is my mother's house."

"That is not the same thing."

"It is if you've met my mother."

Tony laughed from the front seat.

"He's not joking."

Chloe sat beside me with her backpack in her lap.

"Does she have food?"

James looked over his shoulder.

"Constantly."

"Then I like her already."

I touched Chloe's hand.

"Remember your manners."

"I always have manners."

"You asked a mafia boss if he was a bad person."

"That was a question."

James said, "For the record, it was a good question."

I glared at him.

"You are not helping."

"I've been told that before."

The front door opened before we reached it.

A tiny woman with silver hair stood beneath the porch light wearing a red robe over a black dress.

She looked at James.

Then at me.

Then at Chloe.

Then back at James.

"What did you do?"

James sighed.

"Hello, Ma."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

She slapped his arm.

"That answer has never been true in forty-six years."

Chloe gasped.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

James rubbed his arm.

"Ma, this is Grace Bennett and her daughter, Chloe."

The woman's expression changed immediately.

She opened both arms.

"Come inside. It's freezing."

I hesitated.

She looked offended.

"Young woman, I am seventy-two years old and wearing slippers in December. If you make me stand here, I will blame my son."

James murmured, "You were going to blame me anyway."

"Correct."

We went inside.

The house smelled like cinnamon, coffee, and tomato sauce.

At two in the morning.

Chloe whispered, "I told you she had food."

Mrs. Moretti heard her.

"Of course I have food. What kind of house has no food on Christmas?"

The question hit me harder than she could have known.

I looked away.

James noticed.

So did his mother.

She didn't apologize.

Instead she said, "Chloe, do you like hot chocolate?"

"Yes."

"Marshmallows?"

"Yes."

"Too many marshmallows?"

Chloe smiled.

"Yes."

"Good. We understand each other."

She took Chloe by the hand and led her toward the kitchen.

I stopped James in the hallway.

"Your mother doesn't know who we are."

"She knows enough."

"Meaning?"

"I told her a woman and child needed a place to stay."

"Did you tell her why?"

"Not over the phone."

"Did you tell her someone threw a brick through my window?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because then she would have come to your apartment herself."

I stared at him.

He looked serious.

"You're afraid of your mother."

"Deeply."

Against my will, I smiled.

It vanished when Tony entered carrying Daniel's box.

Mrs. Moretti saw it from the kitchen.

Her face changed.

Not because she recognized the box.

Because she saw the brass M7 key in the clear evidence bag on top.

She whispered, "Where did you get that?"

James turned.

"Ma?"

She walked closer.

Her eyes stayed on the key.

"That number."

"You know it?"

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"Anthony had one."

James went still.

"What?"

"Your brother."

"I heard you."

Mrs. Moretti looked at me.

"Who are you?"

I swallowed.

"Grace Bennett."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Bennett."

James said, "Her husband was Daniel Bennett."

Mrs. Moretti grabbed the back of a chair.

"Oh, God."

I stepped toward her.

"You knew Daniel?"

"No."

"But you know his name."

She looked at James.

"Tell her."

He frowned.

"Tell her what?"

Mrs. Moretti slapped the table.

"Don't become your father now. Tell her."

"Ma, I don't know what you're talking about."

She stared at him.

Then she looked at me.

"Anthony said that name the week before he died."

My chest tightened.

"What did he say?"

She lowered herself into a chair.

"He came here for dinner."

James's expression went blank in the way I was learning meant he was frightened.

"He came here?"

"Tuesday."

"You told me you hadn't seen him that week."

"You were angry with each other."

"That wasn't an answer."

Mrs. Moretti's voice sharpened.

"You were screaming at him about money and loyalty and God knows what else. He came here because he knew I wouldn't ask him to choose sides."

James looked hurt.

It was the first time I had seen him look like someone's son instead of everyone's threat.

"What did he say about Bennett?"

"He said, 'Ma, there's a decent man at the pier named Bennett who may get hurt because he helped me.'"

I sat down.

Mrs. Moretti continued.

"I asked what kind of help."

Her voice became quieter.

"He said, 'The kind nobody should have to give.'"

I looked at James.

He looked away.

"Did Anthony say Daniel's first name?"

"No."

"Anything else?"

Mrs. Moretti closed her eyes.

"He asked if I still had your father's old locker key."

James stared at the brass key.

"M7."

She nodded.

"Your father used M6. Anthony used M7."

"Why?"

"Because when you boys were young, your father kept emergency money under the pier."

James rubbed his jaw.

"I knew about M6."

"Anthony knew you knew."

"So he used M7."

"Maybe."

I asked, "What did he leave there?"

Mrs. Moretti shook her head.

"I don't know."

James said, "Did he give you anything?"

She hesitated.

That hesitation changed the room.

"Ma."

"No."

"You paused."

"I am old. I pause."

"You pause when you're lying."

"Then perhaps you taught me."

"Ma."

She stood.

"Chloe needs hot chocolate."

James stepped in front of her.

"Please."

Mrs. Moretti stopped.

He said the word again.

"Please."

She stared at her son for a long time.

Then she sat.

"Anthony gave me an envelope."

My heart started beating faster.

"What happened to it?" James asked.

"He told me if he didn't call me by Christmas morning, I should give it to you."

"You never did."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because someone came for it."

James's voice dropped.

"Who?"

"Frank."

The name landed like a stone.

I remembered it.

Frank DeLuca.

James's adviser.

James leaned on the table.

"When?"

"Christmas Eve morning. Before you called to tell me Anthony was dead."

Tony swore quietly.

James turned.

"You knew about this?"

"No, boss."

Mrs. Moretti said, "Frank told me Anthony had sent him. He said the envelope contained business documents that would cause trouble if police found them."

James stared at her.

"And you gave it to him?"

"I was frightened."

"You gave it to him."

"I thought I was protecting you."

"From what?"

"From the life you chose."

Silence.

Then Mrs. Moretti's voice cracked.

"I had already spent thirty years protecting my sons from that life and watching it take both of you anyway."

James's anger disappeared.

He sat beside her.

She touched his face.

"You were not the only person who lost Anthony."

He closed his eyes.

I looked away.

Chloe came from the kitchen carrying two mugs.

"I made one for Grandma Moretti."

Mrs. Moretti looked at her.

"Grandma?"

Chloe stopped.

"Sorry."

Mrs. Moretti stood immediately and took the mug.

"No. Never apologize for improving a title."

Chloe smiled.

James opened his eyes.

For the first time all night, the room softened.

Then the doorbell rang.

Tony moved before anyone else.

He checked a small screen beside the door.

His face hardened.

"Boss."

James stood.

"Who?"

"Frank."

Mrs. Moretti whispered, "At this hour?"

My stomach tightened.

James looked at me.

"Take Chloe upstairs."

I didn't move.

"No."

"Grace."

"If this man took the envelope, I want to hear what he says."

"This is not your world."

"It entered my apartment tonight."

He didn't answer.

The doorbell rang again.

Mrs. Moretti said, "Let him in."

James looked at his mother.

She lifted her chin.

"My house."

Tony opened the door.

Frank DeLuca was older than James, maybe late fifties, with thick gray hair and a charcoal coat dusted with rain.

He entered smiling.

"Merry Christmas."

No one answered.

His smile faded.

"James?"

"How did you know I was here?"

Frank glanced at Tony.

"Your men talk."

Tony stiffened.

Frank looked at me.

"And this must be Grace Bennett."

Every hair on my arms rose.

I had never met him.

James's voice became dangerous.

"How do you know her name?"

Frank blinked.

"Your driver called about the break-in."

"My driver doesn't know her last name."

The room became silent.

Frank recovered quickly.

"Then Tony told someone."

Tony said, "No."

Frank frowned.

"James, what is this?"

Mrs. Moretti stepped forward.

"Do you remember the envelope Anthony gave me?"

Frank's face did not change.

But his right hand tightened once.

I saw it.

So did James.

Frank said, "Maria, it was three years ago."

"You remember."

"Of course I remember."

James asked, "What was inside?"

Frank looked at him.

"Nothing useful."

"What was inside?"

"Anthony was paranoid."

"Answer."

Frank sighed.

"A few photocopies of shipping manifests. Numbers. Accusations without proof."

"Where are they?"

"I destroyed them."

James stared at him.

"You destroyed something my brother left for me."

"It implicated your companies."

"So?"

"You were already under federal attention."

"So you made the decision for me."

"I protected you."

Mrs. Moretti whispered, "That's what I said."

Frank looked at her.

"I did what Anthony would have wanted."

James moved closer.

"You don't get to tell me what my dead brother wanted."

Frank's face hardened.

"No. I get to tell you what kept you out of prison."

I asked, "Did the papers mention Daniel Bennett?"

Frank looked at me.

For one second, I saw recognition.

Then it vanished.

"I don't know."

"Think."

"I said I don't know."

"Did they mention locker M7?"

His eyes flickered.

That was enough.

James stepped between us.

"How do you know about M7?"

Frank's jaw tightened.

"I grew up around the pier."

"That's not what I asked."

"I knew Anthony used it."

"Who told you?"

"Anthony."

Mrs. Moretti said, "Anthony told me he chose M7 because almost nobody knew he used it."

Frank looked at her.

"Almost."

James's voice was quiet.

"Did you search Grace's apartment?"

Frank stared at him.

"You're accusing me?"

"I'm asking."

"No."

"Did you send men to watch the restaurant?"

"No."

"Did you throw a brick through her window?"

Frank laughed once.

"This is insane."

Chloe stepped from behind me.

"I saw the brick."

Frank looked at her.

Something in James changed instantly.

He moved so that Chloe disappeared behind his shoulder.

Frank raised both hands.

"Easy."

James said, "Don't look at her."

I had never heard four words sound like that.

Frank's expression cooled.

"You're getting emotional."

"Leave."

"James."

"Leave my mother's house."

"We need to discuss this privately."

"No."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"Maybe not."

"That woman—"

James took one step forward.

Frank stopped.

"Her name is Grace."

Frank stared at him.

Then he turned to me.

"If you are smart, Mrs. Bennett, you will take your daughter and leave Boston."

James said, "Frank."

Frank ignored him.

"Whatever Daniel touched at Pier Fourteen killed him."

My heart stopped.

James grabbed Frank by the coat.

Tony moved closer but did not intervene.

I whispered, "You said you didn't know him."

Frank looked at me over James's arm.

"I said I didn't know whether the papers mentioned him."

"How do you know he died because of the pier?"

Frank went still.

I stepped closer.

"You know."

James's grip tightened.

"Talk."

Frank looked at James.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

"You're making a mistake."

James shoved him back.

"Out."

Frank straightened his coat.

At the door, he looked at Chloe again.

James moved.

Frank lifted his hands.

"Fine."

Then he said to me, "Ask James what happened to the last family he tried to protect."

The door closed.

I looked at James.

"What did he mean?"

James stared at the floor.

His mother whispered, "Not tonight."

I said, "No."

James looked at me.

"Grace."

"Not tonight is what people say when the truth is going to hurt."

He didn't deny it.

I tightened my arms around Chloe.

"What family?"

James looked older than he had an hour earlier.

"My wife and daughter."

Chloe became very still.

I whispered, "What happened to them?"

"They died because someone wanted to hurt me."

The room seemed to shrink.

I looked at the man who had cooked chicken for my child.

Then at the guards by the door.

Then at the brass key on the table.

"You told me this was the safest place you have."

"It is."

"That isn't the same as safe."

"No."

"Can you protect Chloe?"

He looked directly at me.

"I will."

"That's not what I asked."

A long silence.

Then James said, "I don't know."

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It was the most frightening answer he could have given.

It was also the first answer that made me trust him.