Chapter 3 - The Interpreter Who Wasn't There
Dominic never reached the door.
Gabriel's security chief, Paolo Ricci, stepped in front of it.
Not with a gun.
Just his body.
Gabriel said, "Nobody leaves."
Chloe's stomach dropped.
She was a waitress.
She was also now standing in a private room with six dangerous men, a forged corporate document, and a seventy-six-year-old woman who had just accused Gabriel Costello's right hand of years of deception.
Marco opened the door from the kitchen.
"Everything okay?"
Chloe answered too quickly.
"No."
Gabriel looked at her.
"Go."
Beatrice grabbed Chloe's wrist.
Please stay.
Chloe closed her eyes.
Of course.
She looked at Marco.
"Tell Chef Mrs. Costello still wants the risotto."
Marco stared.
Then slowly closed the door.
Gabriel rubbed both hands over his face.
"Ma, why didn't you tell me?"
Beatrice's expression went flat.
Chloe did not translate immediately.
Gabriel looked at her.
"What?"
"She's asking whether you're serious."
He flinched.
Beatrice signed.
I told you at breakfast.
At Christmas.
At your father's memorial.
In the car.
At the hospital.
Every time you said later.
Chloe translated each one.
Gabriel stared at the table.
Dominic said quietly, "She also had interpreters."
Beatrice's eyes snapped toward him.
Chloe caught the reaction.
"Ask her."
Gabriel looked up.
"What?"
"About the interpreters."
Chloe signed.
Beatrice answered.
There was one man.
Peter.
Dominic chose him.
Gabriel frowned.
"Peter Sloan?"
Beatrice nodded.
Gabriel looked confused.
"He interpreted for you for three years."
Beatrice's face tightened.
She signed two words.
Not correctly.
Chloe felt her pulse jump.
"What does that mean?" Gabriel asked.
"She says he didn't interpret her correctly."
Dominic scoffed.
"According to whom? The waitress?"
Chloe looked at him.
"According to the deaf woman who was speaking."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
Good.
Beatrice continued.
Peter often told Gabriel she was tired when she was angry.
Told doctors she agreed when she was asking questions.
Told attorneys she understood papers she said she did not.
And whenever she complained?
Dominic said Beatrice's signing had become erratic after her illness.
Chloe translated.
Gabriel looked sick.
His mother had lost most of her hearing six years earlier after meningitis.
He had hired specialists.
Devices.
Interpreters.
A driver.
A companion.
Everything except the one thing that would have made her independent of other people's translation.
He had never learned her language.
Gabriel stood.
He crossed to Beatrice.
Then stopped in front of her.
He raised his hands.
Clumsy.
Slow.
SORRY.
Beatrice stared.
Then signed:
Not yet.
Chloe translated.
Gabriel nodded.
"Fair."
Dominic said, "This is becoming emotional."
Gabriel turned.
"My mother says you controlled her interpreter."
"I recommended him."
"My mother says you forged signatures."
"I deny that."
"My mother says my father wanted out."
Dominic smiled faintly.
"Salvatore said many things near the end."
Beatrice slammed her palm on the table.
Then signed so hard her hands shook.
Chloe translated.
"She says he wasn't near the end when he said it."
Gabriel froze.
"When?"
Beatrice pointed toward Chloe.
Then tapped the table seven times.
Seven years ago.
One year before Salvatore died.
Gabriel frowned.
"My father was still running everything."
Beatrice nodded.
Then signed:
He wanted you out before you came in.
Gabriel looked at her.
Dominic's face went still.
Beatrice continued.
Salvatore had planned to move Gabriel permanently into the legitimate businesses.
Hotels.
Restaurants.
Commercial property.
He wanted Dominic to dismantle the rest slowly and separate Gabriel from it.
Gabriel whispered, "No."
Beatrice nodded.
Dominic said, "Salvatore never trusted Gabriel with the details."
Beatrice pointed at him.
Exactly.
Then signed:
Because he trusted you.
Nobody moved.
Gabriel looked at Dominic.
"My father told you to dismantle it."
Dominic did not answer.
Gabriel's voice dropped.
"And you told me his dying wish was that I take his place."
Dominic's mouth tightened.
Chloe saw the answer before he gave one.
Then the private room door opened.
Marco stood there, pale.
"Mr. Costello."
Gabriel turned.
"What?"
"There's a man in the kitchen asking for Mrs. Costello."
Paolo frowned.
"Who?"
Marco swallowed.
"He says his name is Peter Sloan."
Beatrice went white.
The interpreter who had supposedly moved to California three years earlier had just walked into the restaurant.
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