Chapter 3: Ask Marco About Moses
Tessa did not move.
The corridor hummed with the sound of the restaurant behind them — distant plates, a server calling an order, the piano still playing something slow and indifferent.
None of it touched the silence between her and Marco.
"Say that again," she said.
"Keep your voice down."
"Say it again, Marco."
He stepped closer.
His cologne was expensive.
His eyes were not calm.
"The fire at Rowe's House was not an accident."
Tessa's hand tightened around the spoon.
The burn mark pressed into her palm.
"Who set it?"
Marco looked toward the kitchen door.
Still closed.
He looked back.
"Laurent's father.
Gerard Delacroix."
The name meant nothing to her.
Then it did.
Delacroix.
The same family.
Laurent's father.
"Why?"
"Because Moses wouldn't sell."
"Sell what?
It was twelve tables and peeling paint."
"It was the building, Tessa.
The whole block on Fulton Street.
Gerard wanted it.
Moses was the last holdout.
Every other owner had already signed." Marco's voice dropped further.
"When Moses still said no, Gerard found another way."
Tessa felt the floor shift slightly beneath her.
"My grandfather d*ed in that fire."
Marco said nothing.
"He d*ed in that fire, Marco."
"I know."
"And Laurent knows."
Marco's jaw tightened.
That was answer enough.
"How long have you known?"
"Since I was hired here.
Gerard told Laurent everything when he handed him the restaurant.
Like it was something to be proud of." He looked away.
"I needed the job.
I told myself it wasn't my business."
"It became my business the moment you put me on that floor for nineteen months." Tessa's voice was steady.
She was surprised by that.
"Where did the spoon come from?"
"Gerard kept it.
I don't know why.
Trophy, maybe.
Proof.
Something." Marco rubbed the back of his neck.
"When Damian Voss made the reservation tonight, Laurent panicked.
He knew Voss had history with Moses — old neighborhood, old debts, old loyalty.
He was afraid Damian would start asking questions if he saw anything connected to Rowe's House." Marco glanced at the spoon.
"Laurent told me to get rid of it before service.
I was supposed to throw it away."
"But you put it beside the stove."
"I put it where you would find it."
Tessa stared at him.
"Why?"
Marco did not answer immediately.
He looked at her the way people look at something they have been avoiding for a long time.
"Because I watched them laugh at you for nineteen months and I never said a word.
And I knew what that spoon was.
And I knew who you were." He exhaled.
"It was the least I could do.
I know that's not enough."
It wasn't enough.
He was right about that.
But it had changed everything.
"The messages," Tessa said.
"The photos of my mother.
Who sent those?"
"Laurent.
He has someone who does that kind of work for him.
He wanted to scare you off before you said yes to Damian."
Tessa looked at her phone.
Ruth, standing still on a Queens sidewalk.
Waiting because someone had told her to wait.
"Is my mother in danger?"
"Not if you give back the spoon and walk away."
"And if I don't?"
Marco's face told her the answer before he spoke it.
"Then Laurent calls his father.
And Gerard Delacroix is not a man who leaves loose ends."
The kitchen door opened behind him.
A prep cook stepped through, glanced at them both, and kept walking.
Marco lowered his voice to almost nothing.
"Tessa.
I'm telling you this because you deserve to know.
But you need to understand what you're walking into.
Damian Voss is not safe either.
The reason he wanted gumbo tonight — the reason he came here — it wasn't random.
He's been looking for something connected to Moses for years."
"What has he been looking for?"
Marco opened his mouth.
The kitchen door swung open again.
Laurent stood in the frame.
He looked at Marco.
Then at Tessa.
Then at the spoon in her hand.
His face went very still.
"Tessa," he said.
"Mr.
Voss is asking for you."
May you like
She held his gaze for three full seconds.
Then she walked past him into the dining room, the spoon still in her hand, and did not look back at Marco at all.
