Chapter 6 - THE MAFIA BOSS HAD FORTY-EIGHT HOURS TO SAVE HIS GRANDMOTHER
“I'm going to kill the man who took her.”
Carmine Orsini's voice was so calm that Benny Santino knew he meant every word.
They stood inside the estate library, where shattered glass covered the Persian rug and two overturned chairs showed that Palmira had fought her attackers.
Nell remained near the doorway.
She had never seen Carmine look like this.
At dinner, he had been controlled.
At the bakery, ashamed.
At the hospital, protective.
Now the man everyone in New Orleans feared stood absolutely still.
His grandmother was gone.
And he knew why.
Because he had refused to sign Conrad Bellarose's contract.
Because he had started asking questions.
Because he had offered a chair to a housemaid nobody was supposed to notice.
Benny placed a tablet on the desk.
“Security footage shows three men entering through the east service gate at 5:17.”
“Who let them in?”
“The electronic lock was disabled.”
“By whom?”
“We're checking.”
Carmine turned toward the window.
“Check everyone with access. Nobody gets special treatment.”
Benny nodded.
Then Carmine looked at Nell.
“You shouldn't be here.”
She stiffened.
“You think I'm leaving now?”
“This has become dangerous.”
“My mother died because people kept telling her to leave dangerous things alone.”
“Nell—”
“No.”
Her voice shook.
“Your grandmother knew my mother. She tried to help my family. I'm not abandoning her because you're frightened.”
Carmine turned.
“I'm not frightened.”
“Yes, you are.”
The words stopped him.
Nell stepped closer.
“You're afraid you'll lose her. And you're angry because you don't know how to stop it.”
For a moment, Carmine looked almost offended.
Then his expression changed.
“You're right.”
Benny quietly looked away.
He had never heard Carmine admit fear to anyone.
At midnight, Conrad Bellarose called.
Carmine answered on speaker.
“Where is my grandmother?”
Conrad sighed.
“Carmine, I was hoping we could resolve our business disagreement like gentlemen.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“Such impatience.”
A rustling sound followed.
Then Palmira's voice came through.
“Carmine?”
“Grandma.”
“Don't give him anything.”
Conrad interrupted.
“That's enough.”
Carmine gripped the edge of the desk.
“If she's hurt—”
“She won't be, provided you cooperate.”
“What do you want?”
“The original blue ledger.”
“I don't have it.”
“Then find it.”
Conrad paused.
“You have forty-eight hours.”
“Why forty-eight?”
“Because that's when the Crescent Hospitality Charity Gala begins. You'll bring the ledger to the gala, and we'll finalize our distribution agreement in front of our partners.”
Carmine frowned.
“You want me to sign your contract?”
“Of course.”
“And the ledger?”
“You'll surrender it to me.”
“You're asking me to give you your own evidence.”
Conrad laughed softly.
“You're beginning to understand.”
The call ended.
Carmine turned toward Benny.
“Find every property Bellarose owns outside the city. Warehouses, restaurants, private residences, abandoned buildings.”
“Already started.”
“And contact our attorneys.”
Benny hesitated.
“Which ones? Voss controls most of the trust records.”
“Then find attorneys who don't owe Voss their careers.”
Nell stood beside the fireplace.
“Conrad thinks my mother kept the original ledger somewhere.”
“Yes.”
“My father said something about children.”
Carmine looked toward her.
“The children?”
“He said my mother believed children would keep it safe.”
Palmira had mentioned Rosa feeding poor families after the hurricane.
The bakery had been more than a business.
It had been a place where children came every morning for free breakfast.
Nell remembered rows of little handwritten thank-you notes pinned to the kitchen wall.
She remembered the Christmas parties.
And the old church nearby.
“St. Agnes,” she whispered.
Carmine frowned.
“The chapel?”
“No. The church itself. Mama used to deliver breakfast pastries to the children's program.”
Nell looked up.
“There was a storage room behind the parish kitchen. They kept things people donated.”
“Could the ledger be there?”
“I don't know.”
Carmine reached for his coat.
“Then we'll find out.”
St. Agnes Church stood beneath ancient live oaks on a quiet street.
Father Michael Duvall, the parish priest, greeted them shortly after dawn.
He was surprised to see Carmine Orsini standing in the courtyard with a young woman wearing a housemaid's plain brown coat.
When Nell introduced herself as Rosa Fontaine's daughter, his expression softened.
“Eleanor?”
She nodded.
“I haven't heard that name in years.”
He took both her hands.
“Your mother was one of the kindest women I ever knew.”
Nell swallowed hard.
“I'm looking for something she might have left here.”
Father Michael led them toward the old parish kitchen.
The shelves were stacked with donated cookware, cardboard boxes, and faded photographs.
On one wall, dozens of children's drawings were arranged around a yellowed newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
LOCAL BAKER FEEDS FAMILIES DURING FLOOD RECOVERY.
Rosa stood in the photograph, smiling as she handed bread to three children.
Nell touched the picture.
“I remember that day.”
Father Michael nodded.
“Your mother always insisted nobody should go hungry.”
“Did she leave a blue book here?”
The priest thought for a moment.
“Not with me. But after the fire, your father brought several boxes of bakery supplies.”
“Where did they go?”
“Most were distributed. Some were kept for the annual Christmas fundraiser.”
He opened a cabinet.
Inside were old recipe cards, baking tins, and framed photographs.
Nell searched carefully.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a small wooden box labeled:
ROSA'S CHRISTMAS CHILDREN.
Inside were dozens of letters from children who had attended the bakery program.
Nell recognized several names.
One envelope was addressed to Palmira Orsini.
She opened it.
A child's handwriting filled the page.
Mrs. Orsini, thank you for helping Miss Rosa. She said the book should stay with somebody who remembers the truth.
Nell looked at Carmine.
“The book was here.”
Father Michael frowned.
“Wait.”
He opened an old donation register.
Eight years earlier, one item had been listed separately.
Blue account book. Collected by L. Voss on behalf of the Orsini charitable trust.
Carmine stared at the name.
“Voss took it.”
Father Michael looked confused.
“He brought an authorization letter.”
“Do you still have it?”
The priest searched another drawer.
After several minutes, he found a photocopy.
The signature at the bottom read Salvatore Orsini.
Carmine examined it.
Then he pointed to the date.
“This was signed two weeks after the fire.”
Nell looked at him.
“So?”
“My father was hospitalized during those two weeks. He couldn't hold a pen. His hands were bandaged.”
Father Michael crossed himself.
“Dear God.”
The authorization was forged.
Voss had collected the original ledger while Salvatore was recovering from burns.
But if Voss already possessed it, why was Conrad demanding Carmine bring it to the gala?
Carmine studied the document.
Then he noticed something else.
The collection receipt had been signed by a second witness.
B. Santino.
Carmine stared.
Nell leaned closer.
“Benny?”
Carmine said nothing.
Eight years earlier, Benny had worked as a junior security officer for the Orsini organization.
He would have been young, inexperienced, and eager to prove himself.
But his signature appeared on the receipt.
Back at the estate, Carmine summoned Benny.
He placed the photocopy on the desk.
“Explain this.”
Benny looked at the signature.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“St. Agnes.”
Benny stared at the paper for several seconds.
“Boss, I can explain.”
“Then start.”
Benny looked toward Nell.
“Not in front of her.”
Carmine's eyes hardened.
“You've known me for eight years. She's known me for four days. At the moment, she's been more honest.”
Benny flinched.
“That's not fair.”
“Neither is my grandmother sitting tied to a chair.”
Benny lowered his voice.
“Voss told me to collect a box from the church. I signed for it. I didn't know what was inside.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because three days later, he gave me five thousand dollars and told me never to mention it.”
Carmine went still.
“You took his money.”
“My mother needed surgery. I was twenty-two and making barely enough to pay rent.”
“You should have come to me.”
“I was ashamed.”
Nell watched the exchange.
For the first time, she saw how deeply betrayal wounded Carmine.
He was not angry because Benny had needed money.
He was angry because Benny had hidden the truth.
“Where's the book now?” Carmine asked.
Benny shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Carmine turned away.
“Leave your credentials and keys on the desk.”
Benny's eyes widened.
“Boss.”
“Do it.”
Slowly, Benny removed his security badge.
Then he placed his keys beside it.
“I've made mistakes,” he said. “But I never betrayed you after I understood what Voss was.”
Carmine did not answer.
Benny walked out.
Nell watched him leave.
“Do you believe him?” she asked.
“I don't know.”
“Neither do I.”
Carmine rubbed his face.
The man who had been his closest friend had concealed a crucial piece of the family's past.
And his grandmother's life was counting down by the hour.
That evening, Nell returned to the hospital.
Her father was sitting upright, looking at old photographs.
She showed him the church receipt.
“Papa, do you remember this?”
Emmett studied it.
His eyes narrowed.
“Book,” he whispered.
“Yes. Mama's blue book.”
He touched the paper.
“Not blue anymore.”
Nell frowned.
“What?”
Emmett looked toward the window.
“Rosa changed it.”
“Changed what?”
“The cover. She didn't trust the man in the suit.”
Nell leaned closer.
“What color was it?”
Emmett stared at her.
Then he smiled faintly.
“Red,” he said.
Nell froze.
Her father closed his eyes.
“Red like Christmas.”
Nell remembered the parish storage room.
The photographs.
The children's drawings.
And a large red leather-bound Christmas donation register she had noticed sitting on Father Michael's desk.
She reached for her phone.
But before she could call Carmine, it rang.
An unknown number appeared.
She answered.
A man's voice spoke quietly.
“Miss Fontaine, your father remembers too much.”
Nell turned toward Emmett.
“What do you want?”
“Tell Carmine Orsini that he has one hour to stop looking for the ledger.”
A muffled cry came through the phone.
Palmira.
Then the man continued.
“If he refuses, we'll send him his grandmother in pieces.”
The line went dead.
Nell looked at the hospital window.
Across the street, a black car was parked beneath a broken streetlight.
Its headlights flashed twice.
And from the rear seat, a woman raised one trembling hand against the glass.
Palmira Orsini.
May you like
She was less than fifty yards away.
Before Nell could call for help, a gunshot shattered the hospital window.
