Chapter 4 - The Ledger of Blood and Interest
At nine o'clock the following morning, the sun broke through the autumn clouds, pouring gold light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Michael Marchetti’s private library.
Downstairs, in a soundproof basement office lined with iron-bound ledgers and security monitors, Michael sat behind a heavy walnut desk. Standing across from him were two men: Dominic, his fiercely loyal head of security, and Beto, a broad-shouldered man who oversaw operations at the Atwells Avenue restaurant.
"How long has Hodge been operating out of the kitchen?" Michael asked, his voice low and cold as ice.
"About six months, Boss," Beto said, his head lowered in shame. "He didn't come inside during service. He dealt with Hector in the back alley after hours. Hector was taking a five percent kickback on any wages withheld from the illegals and night-shift scrubbers to pay off private debts."
Michael’s eyes darkened. He picked up a heavy brass paperweight and weighed it in his palm. "Where is Hector now?"
"Dominic picked him up at six AM outside his apartment," Beto answered quietly. "He’s sitting in the back room at the distribution warehouse in Johnston."
"Good," Michael said. "Tell him he has two hours to write down every employee number, every debt, and every dollar he took from those workers. When he's done, hand him a final paycheck and tell him if he ever steps foot in Rhode Island again, he won't walk out."
"Understood, Boss," Beto nodded, stepping back.
Michael turned his attention to Dominic. "Where is Curtis Hodge?"
Dominic pulled a small black notebook from his pocket. "Hodge has an office disguised as a financial consulting firm on Westminster Street. He’s meeting with his legal counsel at eleven o'clock to finalize foreclosure papers on three small residential properties in South Providence."
Michael stood up, adjusting the cuffs of his dark grey suit. "Cancel his meeting. We are going to pay Mr. Hodge a personal visit."
Upstairs, Karen awoke to the soft aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread.
She opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented by the vast, sunlight-filled room. For a fraction of a second, panic seized her—she thought she had overslept her shift at the dry cleaners. She scrambled up, her heart pounding, before the reality of the previous night washed back over her.
She looked at the nightstand. Beside a vase of fresh white lilies sat a small handwritten note from Mrs. Gable, along with a tube of specialized medical ointment for her hands.
Breakfast is served downstairs whenever you are ready, Karen. Take your time.
Karen dressed in the clothes left for her—a soft cashmere sweater and comfortable trousers that fit her perfectly. She applied the ointment to her painful knuckles, feeling the soothing cream sink into the cracked skin.
When she walked down the grand staircase, she found Mrs. Gable set up in a sunlit breakfast nook overlooking the gardens.
"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Gable smiled, setting down a plate of poached eggs, fresh fruit, and warm pastries. "You look much better after a few hours of real rest."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Karen said softly, sitting down at the table. "Is... is Mr. Marchetti here?"
"Michael had business downtown this morning," Mrs. Gable replied, pouring her a cup of coffee. "He left instructions that a car will be ready at two o'clock to take you to Rhode Island General to see your mother."
Karen took a slow sip of the rich coffee, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. "Mrs. Gable... who is he really? Everyone at the restaurant was terrified of him. But he saved my mother."
Mrs. Gable paused, holding a silver coffee pot, her expression becoming gentle and serious.
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"Michael is a man who was raised in a very hard world, Karen," Mrs. Gable said softly. "His father was betrayed by people he trusted, and Michael had to build his own authority from the ground up. He can be ruthless to those who cross his lines. But he has a strict code. He does not tolerate predators who feed on the helpless."
Mrs. Gable set the pot down and looked directly into Karen's eyes. "In eleven years of working in this house, Karen, I have never seen Michael bring an employee here. He saw something in you last night. Don't be afraid of him."
