Chapter 2 – What Was Behind the Photograph

“A window.”

Vanessa’s answer was so quiet that I almost missed it.

Luca stared at her.

“What?”

“The original serving window. That’s what they wanted to see.”

He looked toward the enormous photograph above the fireplace.

“Why would anyone pay for half my restaurant to look at an old window?”

Vanessa pressed her lips together.

“Because the property is worth more than the business.”

“Explain.”

She glanced toward the guests.

“Luca, please. Not in front of everyone.”

Rosa was still standing beside him, holding the back of her chair.

Luca looked at her trembling fingers.

“You embarrassed Rosie in front of everyone,” he said. “You can explain yourself in front of them.”

A man near the far end of the table cleared his throat.

I recognized him immediately.

The stranger from the kitchen.

Black leather briefcase.

Expensive gray suit.

Thin silver-framed glasses.

“My name is Elliot Pryce,” he said. “Perhaps I can clarify.”

Luca turned.

“You’re the new manager?”

“I’m representing the purchasing company.”

Vanessa closed her eyes.

That was the first time I saw real fear cross her face.

Luca studied the man.

“Purchasing what?”

“A controlling interest in the restaurant’s future development.”

“Then you’ve wasted your evening. I haven’t agreed to sell anything.”

Pryce adjusted his glasses.

“Ownership arrangements can be complicated.”

Luca took one step toward him.

“Not complicated enough for you to explain why you’re sitting at my engagement dinner.”

Pryce didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked toward the photograph.

And I noticed something.

He wasn’t looking at the people in the picture.

He was studying the wooden frame.

As though he already knew what was underneath.

“Grace,” Luca said, “would you help me take that down?”

I nodded.

The photograph was enormous.

It showed four adults standing outside Moretti’s on opening day in 1978.

Luca’s parents, Frank and Anna Moretti.

Rosa, younger and smiling.

And her husband, Sal.

A little boy wasn’t in that photograph yet.

But Luca told me later that his mother had kept it above the fireplace because she considered all four people its founders, regardless of what the business records said.

Two waiters helped us lift the frame.

Behind it was another layer of walnut paneling.

A section had been repaired recently.

I could tell because the newer wood had a slightly different color.

Luca touched one of the screws.

“Rosie, when was this covered?”

“Nineteen ninety-six. Your father updated the ventilation, but he wouldn’t let the workers tear down the original wall.”

“Why?”

Rosa looked at the photograph resting against a chair.

“Because your mother made something for this room.”

Luca swallowed.

“My mother?”

“She was never much of a painter. But she could make beautiful things with broken pieces.”

Rosa moved closer.

“She collected blue ceramic tiles from old kitchens. Sal helped her set them around the serving window.”

Luca looked at the wall again.

I watched his expression change.

He remembered.

“Mom used to let me choose the blue pieces.”

Rosa smiled sadly.

“You always picked the crooked ones.”

For a moment, the frightened elderly woman from dinner seemed to disappear.

She was simply Rosie again.

A woman remembering a little boy with flour on his hands.

Then Pryce spoke.

“The tilework isn’t what interests our investors.”

Luca turned.

“Then what does?”

“The space behind it.”

Rosa stiffened.

“There isn’t a room behind that wall.”

“No,” Pryce agreed. “But there was once an opening through the building.”

I saw Vanessa grip her champagne glass.

Luca noticed too.

“Vanessa, how did he know about it?”

She stared at the floor.

“I showed him the old renovation plans.”

“Why?”

“Because you said I could help manage the restaurant!”

“Manage it. Not sell it.”

Her eyes filled.

“Your father left enormous expenses behind, Luca. Someone had to make decisions.”

Rosa raised her head.

“Frank never owed this man a penny.”

Pryce looked uncomfortable.

“Mrs. Romano, with respect—”

Her voice surprised all of us.

It wasn’t loud.

But it was firm.

“I have listened to people talk around me all evening. You may speak to me when you’re ready to tell the truth.”

Pryce said nothing.

I wanted to smile.

Then I noticed several folded architectural drawings protruding from his briefcase.

One corner showed the restaurant’s kitchen.

Another showed a narrow alley behind the building.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, “could I ask him something?”

Luca nodded.

“Go ahead.”

I looked at Pryce.

“Why did you tell the kitchen contractor to measure the back delivery entrance?”

Pryce’s expression changed.

Vanessa looked sharply at me.

“When did you hear that?” she demanded.

“Before dinner.”

Pryce closed his briefcase.

“The measurements are standard for a redevelopment project.”

“What redevelopment?” Luca asked.

Pryce hesitated.

Then Rosa spoke.

“Grace, bring that drawing here.”

I looked toward Luca.

He held out his hand.

“Mr. Pryce.”

The man finally removed the plans.

We spread them across the dining table.

I recognized the kitchen.

The dining room.

The rear loading area.

But where the familiar brick alley should have been, someone had drawn a broad concrete driveway.

A driveway leading beneath a proposed luxury hotel.

Rosa’s face went white.

Luca leaned over the plans.

“What is it?”

She pointed toward a small rectangle marked for removal.

“That’s the ramp.”

Pryce said nothing.

“What ramp?” Luca asked.

“The one beside Saint Anne’s.”

I remembered the modest brick building behind the restaurant.

I’d passed it that afternoon.

An elderly man with a walker had been sitting near its back entrance.

Rosa gripped Luca’s sleeve.

“Saint Anne’s has forty people who come for lunch. Some use wheelchairs. Some can’t manage stairs.”

Her voice shook.

“Sal helped build that ramp after one of our regular customers fell on the front steps.”

Luca looked down at the drawing.

The proposed driveway ran directly across it.

“Where are they supposed to enter?”

Pryce finally answered.

“Alternative arrangements can be discussed.”

Rosa stared at him.

“There aren’t any.”

He avoided her eyes.

Luca turned the drawing around.

Printed in red beside the ramp were three words.

REMOVE MONDAY. 6:00 A.M.

And underneath was a smaller instruction.

Existing accessible entrance to be permanently closed.

Rosa put one hand over her mouth.

Then she whispered something I would never forget.

“Luca, they aren’t just taking our restaurant. They’re taking away the only doorway some of those people can use.”