Chapter 10 - A Different Table
Dinner with Gabriel Costello was stranger than being threatened by Gabriel Costello.
Chloe discovered this within six minutes.
He pulled out her chair.
She stared at him.
“What?”
he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Judging me silently.”
“I didn’t know you understood silence.”
He almost laughed.
They were not in the private dining room.
Gabriel had chosen a small table near the front windows of Il Canto.
No lieutenants.
No folders.
No business discussions.
Beatrice sat at another table with Marco because she had claimed she needed to supervise.
Marco looked terrified by the responsibility.
Chloe opened the menu.
“So.”
Gabriel said.
“So.”
“This feels like an interview.”
“It does.”
“You’re bad at this.”
“I know.”
That admission surprised her.
Gabriel reached for the wine list.
Chloe stopped him.
“I have an early shift.”
“You still work here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She stared at him.
“Because rent continues to exist after attempted kidnappings.”
“You could work for me.”
“No.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Were you going to offer me a job?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“As an interpreter for my mother.”
Chloe hesitated.
Gabriel noticed.
“That one almost worked.”
“She deserves a certified interpreter.”
“I’m hiring one.”
“Good.”
“But she likes you.”
Chloe looked toward Beatrice.
The older woman was teaching Marco to sign thank you.
Marco’s fingers looked like frightened spiders.
Chloe smiled.
“I like her too.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Then visit.”
“That I can do.”
He nodded.
No argument.
No order.
Another small change.
Their food arrived.
Seafood risotto for both.
Chloe laughed.
“Really?”
“My mother said it’s better than the veal.”
“She’s correct.”
They ate.
For the first time, Gabriel told her about himself.
Not the businesses.
Not the reputation.
The person.
He had grown up three blocks from the church.
His father made him work summers at Pier 19.
His mother packed sandwiches because Antonio Costello refused to buy lunch for a son who arrived late.
Gabriel hated warehouses.
Loved old movies.
Could not cook.
Once destroyed a microwave attempting to heat pasta in aluminum foil.
Chloe laughed so hard Beatrice turned around.
Gabriel looked offended.
“I was fourteen.”
“You were old enough to understand metal.”
“I was busy.”
“At fourteen?”
“I had responsibilities.”
“You had puberty.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“What about you?”
Chloe told him about Leo.
About their mother working nights.
About learning ASL from children’s videos because their school district’s interpreter was terrible.
About Leo convincing her to sign insults during church because no one else understood.
Gabriel smiled.
“What kind of insults?”
“I’m not teaching you those.”
“I’m learning the language.”
“For your mother.”
“I need full fluency.”
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“Absolutely not.”
At the other table, Beatrice signed.
Teach him the bad words.
Chloe burst out laughing.
Gabriel looked over.
“I understood ‘teach.’”
“You’re getting dangerous.”
For several weeks, life became almost normal.
Bishop remained in federal custody.
Vincent was charged.
The investigation into Antonio Costello’s death produced enough evidence to prove the crash had been arranged.
Gabriel buried his father a second time in his heart.
This time knowing exactly what had happened.
He also changed.
Not overnight.
Not perfectly.
But visibly.
Every morning he spent an hour with an ASL instructor.
Every evening he practiced with Beatrice.
At first their conversations were painfully slow.
Coffee?
Yes.
Sleep?
Good.
Doctor tomorrow.
I know.
Then sentences grew.
Memories appeared.
Arguments returned.
One afternoon Chloe arrived at Beatrice’s home and found Gabriel being scolded entirely in ASL.
Chloe stood in the doorway.
“This is beautiful.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“She says I work too much.”
“She’s right.”
“She says you encourage her.”
“She’s right again.”
Beatrice signed.
Tell him he needs vegetables.
Chloe translated.
Gabriel pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
“You invited me.”
“I regret it.”
Beatrice laughed.
For the first time in years, Gabriel and his mother could argue without someone standing between them.
Chloe stopped interpreting unless they asked.
That mattered.
She was not Beatrice’s voice.
Beatrice had always had a voice.
Gabriel had finally learned how to listen.
Two months after the night at Il Canto, federal prosecutors announced dozens of charges connected to Bishop’s network.
The Costello businesses were investigated too.
Gabriel cooperated.
That surprised almost everyone.
He shut down operations he could not defend legally.
Sold two companies.
Reorganized another.
Some men left.
Some threatened him.
Some called him weak.
Gabriel did not care.
“My father spent his life building something,” he told Chloe one evening.
“I spent mine protecting the wrong parts of it.”
They were walking beside Lake Michigan.
Winter had begun moving into Chicago.
Chloe tucked her hands into her coat.
“What are the right parts?”
He thought.
“The hospital.”
She nodded.
“My mother’s house.”
“Definitely.”
“Pier 19.”
“The ugly warehouse?”
“It’s historic.”
“It has rats.”
“Historic rats.”
She laughed.
Gabriel smiled.
Then he stopped walking.
Chloe turned.
“What?”
He signed.
Slowly.
Better than before.
I like you.
Chloe raised an eyebrow.
“Very sophisticated.”
He continued.
A lot.
She smiled.
“You practiced that.”
“Three days.”
“That’s tragic.”
“Chloe.”
She took one step closer.
“Gabriel.”
His expression became serious.
“I know my life is complicated.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“I know knowing me put you in danger.”
“Technically your mother ordering risotto did that.”
“She blames the veal.”
“Fair.”
Gabriel’s smile faded.
“I don’t want to make decisions for you.”
Chloe waited.
He continued.
“So I’m asking.”
He signed.
Can I kiss you?
Chloe stared at his hands.
Then his face.
“You learned consent before profanity.”
“My teacher has priorities.”
Chloe laughed.
Then she nodded.
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
Gently.
Nothing dramatic.
No orchestra.
No applause.
Just cold air from the lake.
Traffic in the distance.
And Gabriel’s hand resting carefully against her cheek.
When they pulled apart, Chloe saw Beatrice across the street.
She was sitting inside a parked car with Dante.
Watching them.
Chloe narrowed her eyes.
Beatrice waved.
Gabriel turned.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
Beatrice signed through the windshield.
Finally.
Chloe laughed.
Gabriel covered his face.
For one brief moment, everything felt possible.
Then Dante stepped out of the car.
His expression was not amused.
Gabriel saw it.
“What happened?”
Dante walked across the street.
“We have a problem.”
Chloe sighed.
“Of course we do.”
Dante handed Gabriel a photograph.
It showed Pier 19.
Taken that morning.
A symbol had been painted across the warehouse door.
A black circle crossed by a red line.
Gabriel’s expression changed.
“What does it mean?”
Chloe asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Dante did.
“It was Antonio Costello’s warning mark.”
Chloe frowned.
“For what?”
Gabriel looked toward the lake.
“When my father believed someone inside the family was a traitor, he marked their file with that symbol.”
Chloe looked at the photograph again.
“So someone is saying there’s another traitor?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Dante handed Gabriel an envelope.
It had been taped beneath the symbol.
Inside was a single photograph.
Gabriel removed it.
His face went completely still.
Chloe moved beside him.
The picture showed Gabriel.
Beatrice.
Chloe.
Taken from across the street only days earlier.
May you like
On the back were four handwritten words.
VINCENT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
