Chapter 8 - What Celeste Marquetti Kept Beneath the Drake

Rosie went to the Drake.

She did not go alone.

Mateo entered through the parking garage dressed as a delivery contractor. Lorenzo remained in a conference room across the street with a live audio feed from Rosie’s phone. Dante monitored the hotel’s network remotely.

Rosie hated the arrangement.

She also knew going without backup would be stupid.

Celeste met her beside the service elevator on basement level one.

The older woman wore a charcoal suit, silver hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck. Rosie had seen her command kitchens through fires, floods, and celebrity tantrums. She had never seen Celeste look nervous.

“You look exhausted,” Celeste said.

“I have had an unusual twenty-four hours.”

Celeste almost smiled. “Come.”

They descended one level.

Basement two held storage cages, obsolete banquet furniture, maintenance records, and rooms most employees forgot existed.

Celeste unlocked an archive door with a key rather than a badge.

Rosie noticed.

“Why no electronic access?”

“Because the system was never upgraded.”

Inside, shelves of paper files filled the room.

Celeste closed the door.

Then she spoke in Sicilian.

“Your grandmother always said you would inherit her stubbornness.”

Rosie stopped.

Through the phone in her pocket, she knew Lorenzo heard every word.

“You knew her.”

Celeste’s face softened. “Lucia saved my life once.”

Rosie did not move.

“Were you part of Vittorio’s operation?”

Celeste looked almost offended.

“I was seventeen.”

She opened a metal cabinet.

Inside were old employee records from Trattoria Bianca, freight manifests, and photographs.

Celeste removed one picture.

A teenage girl stood beside Lucia behind the restaurant.

“That is me.”

Rosie compared the face.

Same eyes.

Same mouth.

“Why are you in her ledger?”

“Because my father worked for Vittorio.”

Celeste sat on an old banquet chair.

“He moved shipments. He thought Vittorio would make us rich. When Marco discovered the smuggling, everything became dangerous. My father wanted out. Vittorio threatened me to keep him obedient.”

“Lucia helped you.”

“She put me on a bus to Milwaukee with two hundred dollars and a fake surname.”

Rosie’s throat tightened.

“Marquetti is fake?”

“Borrowed. The name belonged to a woman Lucia trusted.”

Celeste opened another file.

“Years later, Marco arranged a job for me at this hotel. I thought the past was dead.”

“It isn’t.”

“No.”

Celeste slid a document across the table.

It was a copy of a security contract.

Frank Doran’s consulting company had been paid by a Bianca subsidiary for “risk assessment.”

The approving executive was Enzo Bianca.

Rosie stared at it.

“You found this?”

“I found it three months ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I told Enzo.”

Rosie felt the room tighten.

“He came here?”

“Twice. He said he was investigating internal theft. He believed someone had stolen his credentials.”

That matched Dante’s evidence.

“Where is Enzo now?”

Celeste hesitated.

“Missing.”

Lorenzo’s voice came through Rosie’s concealed earpiece, barely audible.

Ask when.

“When?”

“Since yesterday morning.”

Rosie looked at the shelves.

“Why call me down here?”

Celeste removed one final item.

A ledger page.

Not Lucia’s original.

A photocopy.

At the bottom, Lucia had written a series of numbers.

Celeste pointed toward the far wall.

“Because I finally understood those.”

The numbers were dimensions.

Rosie measured the shelving with her eyes.

One section was too shallow.

A false wall.

Mateo entered thirty seconds later after Rosie gave the agreed signal.

Together they moved the shelf.

Behind it sat a narrow steel door.

Celeste unlocked it with a key she had worn around her neck.

Inside was a room no larger than a walk-in closet.

Old recording equipment lined one wall.

Boxes filled the floor.

And in the center sat Salvatore Rossi.

Alive.

Bound to a chair.

Rosie recoiled.

Mateo drew his weapon.

Celeste raised both hands.

“I did not put him here.”

Rossi’s face was bruised.

His eyes widened when he saw Rosie.

“Get me out.”

Mateo checked the room.

“No one else.”

Rosie cut the tape from Rossi’s mouth.

“Who did this?”

Rossi coughed.

“Paolo.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted out.”

Lorenzo’s voice came through Rosie’s earpiece. Keep him talking.

Rossi looked at Celeste.

“You should have stayed gone.”

She went pale.

“You know me?”

“Vittorio never forgot anyone.”

Rosie’s skin prickled.

Rossi pulled against the restraints.

“He has Enzo.”

Mateo crouched in front of him.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Paolo moved him.”

“Why take Enzo?”

“Because Enzo found the accounts. He was going to give them to Lorenzo.”

Rosie thought of the suspicious transactions carrying Enzo’s identity.

The obvious traitor had been another target.

Rossi’s breathing became ragged.

“He used your hotel because nobody looks twice at food trucks. Frank sold access. I handled vendors. Enzo was supposed to take the blame.”

“Who is running it?” Rosie asked.

Rossi looked at her.

For the first time, real fear appeared.

“You think it is Vittorio.”

“It isn’t?”

Rossi shook his head.

“The old man gives permission. He does not give orders anymore.”

Rosie’s stomach tightened.

“Then who does?”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the hidden room.

Slow.

Unhurried.

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Celeste whispered one name.

“Paolo.”