Don Bowed To Me Chapter 18
After Rocco and Chiara left, Don Salvatore sat in the empty chair.
A waiter set down a glass of Vin Santo.
The Don took a small sip and looked at me.
Don Salvatore：”Dr. Vitale.”
Hazel：”Yes?”
Don Salvatore：”What happened tonight. The Marchetti family failed tonight.”
I shook my head.
Hazel：”This was Chiara Barone’s problem.”
He studied me for a long moment.
Don Salvatore：”You understand the Families better than I gave you credit for.”
He set the glass down and rose to his feet.
Don Salvatore：”Sebastian. Make sure Dr. Vitale gets home.”
Sebastian：”Yes, sir.”
Don Salvatore walked out of the restaurant.
Sebastian turned to me.
Sebastian：”Hazel. Do you still want to eat?”
Hazel：”No.”
Sebastian called the waiter over and settled the two most expensive bottles on the menu as an apology to the house.
The maître d’ walked us to the door himself.
November night. Bitter cold.
Sebastian slipped off his coat and draped it over my shoulders.
“I’ll take you home.”
I looked at him.
“Sebastian. I want to walk for a bit tonight.”
Sebastian stopped in his tracks. His eyes said everything he wouldn’t say out loud.
“Hazel. It’s not safe. What if…”
I cut him off.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“It’s only twenty minutes from here to my building.”
He watched me for a long stretch without saying a word.
I knew he didn’t like it.
But I’ve always followed through on the decisions I make.
“Alright. You walk ahead. I’ll wait here until you’re off this block.”
I gave him a small smile.
“Thank you.”
I pulled the coat tighter around me and started toward home.
Fifth Avenue at eleven o’clock on a November night. Barely anyone on the sidewalk.
I walked slowly.
I wasn’t going to carry a single one of Chiara Barone’s ugly words home with me.
Still, something she’d said stuck.
It made me start thinking about what Sebastian and I actually were to each other.
Passing 56th Street, I caught it in the reflection of the Chanel window.
A black SUV. Trailing behind me. Slow.
I didn’t turn around. I kept walking.
Past Cartier. The SUV was still there.
Half a block back. Matching my pace.
Nobody drives that slow down Fifth Avenue.
I pulled out my phone and called Emma.
She picked up on the first ring.
Emma：”Dr. Vitale. What’s wrong?”
Hazel：”I’m on Fifth Avenue, somewhere between 54th and 55th. There’s a black SUV. It’s been following me for three blocks.”
I heard her keyboard start clacking on the other end.
Emma：”I’m pulling the street cameras now. I’m pinging security with your location. Keep walking. Don’t stop. Don’t run.”
Hazel：”Okay.”
Emma：”Did you get the plate?”
Hazel：”Couldn’t make it out. Jersey tags.”
Emma：”Fine. I’ll find it.”
I reached the next intersection.
The SUV surged forward.
It cut across and stopped diagonally in front of me.
Two men and a woman got out.
All three faces I recognized.
The woman was Chiara Barone.
Her makeup had run. The eyeliner was smeared into two black smudges.
Her eyes on me were pure fury.
The man behind her was Marco Trentino.
Newark. An associate from one of Newark’s smaller Families.
The day Marchetti Defense Subsidiary was announced, Emma had whispered to me:
【He’s been chasing Chiara Barone for six years. She’s never even looked at him.】
Now Chiara was standing behind him.
She stood in the pool of the streetlight, staring at me.
Chiara：”Hazel Vitale.”
Her voice was cracked open at the seams.
Chiara：”Did you actually think I’d let you walk away from this?”