“Go right ahead,” Lucas replied, his face twisting into anger. Lucy took a step back, surprised at his sudden transformation. “And when your lawyer says that I’m right, I’ll be collecting sixty years of back rent. Or, you could always pony up a few million dollars and buy the place. But more likely, I’ll be expanding Bella Luna into the space currently occupied by Alba, once you’re evicted,” he said, taking another step closer.

  “And furthermore,” he continued, stepping even closer, now looming over Lucy, “I wouldn’t be surprised if your grandfather was responsible for the bullet that ended up in my grandfather’s back. Angelo Moretti needed to do something to set off his little scam on my poor grandmother,” Lucas added confidently.

  “What?” Lucy gasped, her fists clenching as she was overwhelmed by emotion. “How dare you!” she cried out, growing enraged. “My nonno did no such thing. Don’t you dare accuse him of murder!”

  “I’ll see that my family gets what it should have had all along.” Lucas declared, turning back towards his restaurant. “I’ll bring those documents I mentioned over later,” he called confidently, sounding like nothing had happened. He disappeared inside Bella Luna, the door slamming behind him. The sound echoed through the now-silent alley.

  Lucy leaned back against the stair railing heading up to her apartment, feeling her shoulders slump in defeat. “What am I going to do?” she asked herself out loud as tears threatened to spill out onto her cheeks.

  “Hello?” Ally’s voice called out from the doorway into Alba. “Oh, it’s you,” she said coldly, seeing Lucy. “I heard voices. Who were you talking to?” Ally asked as she stepped outside.

  “Lucas, from next door. He came by to…give me some news, I guess is how you’d put it,” Lucy replied, sniffling and standing up straight. She didn’t want to cry in front of Ally, not after their fight the night before.

  “What’s going on? Are the renovations going to take longer than they thought?” Ally asked, her voice still cold and formal.

  “No, it’s nothing to do with that. He managed to find a blueprint of the building from 1938, and thinks that his father still owns the entire building, Alba included,” Lucy replied, stepping towards her friend. “He also accused my nonno of murder,” she added, her voice cracking.

  “That can’t be true, right?” Ally asked, her hand rising to cover her mouth. “I mean, I never met the man, but from what I’ve heard, I seriously doubt that your grandfather would have murdered anyone. Who is he supposed to have killed, anyway?” Ally asked, speaking quickly. “Besides, your family has to own this building. When did Alba open? It was after 1938, right? Maybe Lucas’s blueprint is just from before your grandpa bought the restaurant,” she continued hopefully.

  “Hold on,” Lucy replied, struggling to organize her thoughts. “Actually, you might be right. I think it was 1939, but I have the original menus upstairs in the apartment. My grandparents saved the menus from the day they opened. Let me go take a look,” she added, heading towards the stairs.

  “I’ll come with you,” Ally said quickly. “Hey, Luce, I’m sorry about last night,” she offered, leaving the doorway and taking a step towards her friend.

  “I know. I am too. It was stupid. I was an ass,” Lucy apologized. “You just didn’t hear me. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up,” she added, feeling like a fool for letting her jealousy infect their friendship.

  “Yeah, you were an ass,” Ally agreed, nodding before letting a small smile spread across her face. “Is there something wrong?” she asked. “Besides all this, I mean. It just seems like you’ve been off for a few days,” she added.

  “Nope,” Lucy said, feeling bad about the white lie she was telling. I can’t make her feel bad about being nominated for this award. It’s what she’s been working towards for years, Lucy realized.

  “Good,” Ally said firmly. “You’d tell me if there was, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Lucy.

  “Yes,” Lucy said firmly, nodding her head. “Friends?” she asked.

  “Friends,” Ally agreed, hugging Lucy.

  Together, they headed up the stairs, Lucy in the lead. She pushed open the door to the apartment. “Ignore the mess,” she instructed Ally, waving a hand at the pile of laundry waiting to be done on top of the washing machine tucked in the corner.

  “I always do!” Ally quipped. Lucy closed the door and they both sat down on the old couch in the living room, one that Lucy’s grandmother had originally purchased. “Okay, tell me again what happened. Why on earth would Lucas accuse your grandpa of murdering someone?” Ally asked.

  “It’s all tied together. Let me just start from the beginning,” Lucy said, taking a deep breath.

  “Tell me exactly what he said,” Ally requested, pulling her legs up onto the couch and turning to face Lucy.

  “I mean, it’s pretty much what I told you. He said he found a blueprint from 1938, which is after his grandfather divided the space into two restaurants, but before Alba opened. I guess maybe Marco ran both restaurants for a time, before my grandfather started renting Alba,” she added as an aside.

  “He said he found rent payments for the restaurant that stopped in 1941, which is when his grandfather died. He didn’t say when they started. Anyway, Marco Ricci was murdered, right outside the restaurant. His wife, Elena, found him with a bullet in his back on the sidewalk. My nonno said she never recovered from that, and she never spoke of it again” Lucy explained. “And apparently, Lucas now thinks that my grandfather is the one who killed him. ‘To set off his scheme,’ is how Lucas put it.”

  “That can’t be true,” Ally murmured, wrinkling her brow.

  “I don’t believe it for a second.” Lucy declared. “It was right before World War II, and I know that this whole neighborhood, being Italian, struggled. There was a lot of prejudice against them,” she told her friend, sighing. “Anyway, I guess there were no more records of rent being paid after Marco died, and he thinks that my grandfather, Angelo, took advantage of the situation and stopped paying,” Lucy finished, sighing heavily.

  “But how would he get away with that?” Ally asked. “Eventually, Marco’s widow would have to have noticed that nobody was paying the rent for Alba. She managed to keep the restaurant running for years on her own after Marco’s death. She had to have been a good businesswoman.”

  “I agree. That’s why I think it’s crap. There’s no way my grandfather would do that, either scam Elena or kill Marco. And I don’t think Lucas is giving his grandmother enough credit. She ran a business for decades; she would have known if someone wasn’t paying her what she was due,” Lucy answered, pushing herself up off the couch. “Come on, let’s go try to find those menus and make sure of the opening date. I’m guessing they’re in the spare room, there are a ton of old papers in there,” she told her friend.

  “I’ve never heard you call your grandfather Nonno before,” Ally commented as they moved across the tiny apartment. “Is that what you called him?” she asked curiously.

  “Yeah,” Lucy replied distractedly, stepping into the spare room. “My Nonno and Nonna. Italian, you know. They spoke a lot of it around the restaurant,” she added.

  “That’s sweet,” Ally said. “It’s nice to hear you talk about them like this,” she continued with a smile. “Even if it did take Lucas accusing your nonno of murder to set it off,” she added sarcastically.

  The spare room, which had been Lucy’s childhood bedroom, and her father’s before that, was packed full of detritus from the restaurant that had accumulated over the years. Spare tables and chairs, boxes of glasses and silverware, even extra parts for the equipment. Once Lucy had moved into the larger bedroom after her parents retired, this one had turned into a storage space.

  Under the far window, which looked down on Salem Street over the front door of the restaurant, rested an old trunk, one that had traveled with Angelo and Rosa Moretti from Italy. It was made of deep red leather, with a hinged lid and stickers from the ship that had transported them pasted on its sides. “I think we should start with that,” Lucy said, gesturing towards it. “That’s where they kept the most important things. That trunk came with them from the old country,” she told Ally, smiling at the phrase her nonno had loved to use.

  “Let’s do it,” Ally agreed, crossing the room and pulling the trunk away from the wall. She had to strain to do so, the trunk was almost as big as she was. Together, Lucy and Ally lifted the lid, resting it against the wall. Inside were stacks of papers and photo albums, some going back to when Marco and Rosa were first married in Italy. There was a black-and-white photograph tucked into the lining of the lid, only half of it showing. Lucy carefully slid it out, revealing a group of laughing teens against the backdrop of an Italian village. Lucy carefully flipped it over to read the back.

  “Look,” she said, tilting the picture so Ally could see. “This is from before they were married. It says it was taken in 1930, and they were married in 1932.” Lucy paused for a second, taking in the image of her grandparents as carefree teenagers in their homeland, before all the stress and anxiety of life had begun for them.

  “That’s incredible,” Ally replied, speaking softly. “You’re so lucky to have such a connection to your grandparents, and to have pictures like this. I hardly knew mine at all.” She sighed.

  “To be fair, I’m not that close with my maternal grandparents,” Lucy replied. “They’re still alive, out on the west coast in Washington state. That’s why my parents moved out west after they retired, to be closer to them. I haven’t seen any of them in years,” she said, a note of regret sneaking into her voice.

  “Well, you’ll have to plan a trip! You’ve been an east coast girl all your life—time to live a little!” Ally replied, poking her friend in the side with an elbow.

  “Ow! No way. You want me to leave you alone with these jackals?” Lucy asked, gesturing towards the floor at the restaurant below.

  “Nope! Not even a little bit,” Ally replied, laughing.

  “Good! Now let’s focus. Do you see those menus in here?” Lucy asked, moving aside some of the picture albums in the trunk.

  “Let me sort through this stack,” Ally offered, collecting some of the loose papers into a pile. “Do you want to keep looking through the albums? Maybe they have one for the restaurant,” she continued hopefully.

  Ally and Lucy sat in silence for a few minutes, pausing in their work occasionally to show the other something interesting they had found. They started a pile of old pictures and memorabilia from the restaurant, although they didn’t find the menus they were looking for.

  “I think maybe it’s time to spruce up some of the decor down in the dining room,” Lucy said. “Could we use some of this?” she wondered.

  “Lucy, that is a magnificent idea,” Ally declared. “How cool would that be? I mean, look at this—here are your grandfather’s handwritten recipes for things that are still on the menu. I think the customers would love that!” she said enthusiastically.

  “I agree! Let’s set those things aside. Maybe we can do some sort of display near the window,” Lucy suggested. “Anyway, are you getting hungry?” she asked her friend, changing the subject. “I’m pretty sure Lucas can hear my stomach growling from next door,” she continued with a laugh.

  “I could definitely eat. Do you actually have any food up here?” Ally said. “I could run down to the restaurant and whip something up,” she offered.

  “I have those agnolotti we made on Monday,” Lucy said. “I stuck the leftovers in the freezer. Do you want to do that?”

  “Definitely! Those were delicious!” Ally cried, jumping up and doing a quick stretch. “Give me a few minutes. Oh, I can make a sauce too,” she muttered to herself as she bustled out of the small room.

  “Let me know if I can help!” Lucy called after her, laughing as she watched her friend disappear through the doorway. She kept sorting through the piles of documents and photographs, even finding an old chef coat, neatly folded, that had belonged to her grandfather. It was still starched stiff, even after all these years. Lucy smiled to herself as she gently rubbed her finger over his name embroidered on the right breast. I won’t let Lucas Ricci take this place, Nonno, she promised silently.

  A short while later, Ally’s voice rang out from the kitchen, breaking into Lucy’s racing thoughts. “Come and get it!” she called. Lucy hopped up, careful not to disturb the piles she had surrounded herself with. She made her way out to the kitchen, where Ally was setting down two bowls on the counter in front of the bar stools. Living in such a small apartment, that was the closest thing Lucy had to a table.

  “I used some of your cream,” Ally said. “And I ran down to the restaurant too—I made this really light cream tarragon sauce I used to do at the restaurant in New York. I think you’ll like it with the agnolotti,” she continued, plopping down a fork next to the bowl.

  The agnolotti were stuffed with a creamy blend of fresh peas, goat cheese and just a hint of sage. Topped with the sauce, they looked very tempting. Ally came around the counter and sat down next to Lucy. “Well, dig in!” she said enthusiastically, picking up her fork.

  Lucy speared one of the pasta pouches on her fork and took a bite, savoring the flavors as they filled her mouth. The tart, creamy goat cheese worked well with the sweetness of the peas and the flavors of the herbs.

  “Ally,” she said, her mouth still full, “this has to go on the menu. This is amazing!” she continued, swallowing and then stuffing another bite into her mouth.

  “You think?” Ally asked, carefully taking a small bite. “Oh,” she said after a second. “This is good.”

  “It’s incredible,” Lucy said. “The sauce really kicks it up a notch. It’s going on the menu. Write up the recipe and we’ll do it next week,” she said decisively.

  “Give me two weeks!” Ally protested, scooping up another agnolotti onto her fork. “Remember how long it took us to make this tiny little batch? We’re going to need a few days to turn out enough to run it as a special,” she explained quickly.

  “Alright, alright,” Lucy conceded. “Two weeks.”

  “Good,” Ally said, finishing the last of her pasta, carefully using her fork to scrape up the remaining sauce in her bowl.

  “Oh, that was really good,” Lucy said again, leaning against the back of her chair. “Thanks, Ally. Now I feel like I can tackle the rest of those papers. Do you want to get back to searching and I’ll handle the dishes?” she offered.

  “That’s the best thing you’ve said to me all day!” Ally said, laughing. She handed over her empty bowl and headed back toward the spare room they had been working in, while Lucy got started cleaning up the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, Lucy joined her friend again. “Any luck?” she asked, sinking down onto the floor.

  “Not yet,” Ally replied, pulling a fresh stack of albums out of the trunk. “Here, do you want to start looking through this?” she asked, handing it to Lucy.

  “Sure thing,” Lucy replied, carefully taking the stack and setting it down next to her.

  “Wait, what’s this?” Lucy said, gently pulling a sheet of paper out of a photo album. Across the top, in an old-fashioned typeface, it read, “Alba: Opening Day,” and underneath that, in smaller letters, “April 1939.”

  “This is it!” Lucy exclaimed. “So, the restaurant definitely opened in 1939, and my grandfather paid rent to Marco Ricci through 1941. But what happened after that?” she wondered, absentmindedly tracing her fingers over the word “Alba” on the menu.

  “That is the million-dollar question,” Ally replied. “Maybe literally. Do you have any idea how much money he wants in back rent?” she asked.

  “Nope,” Lucy said. “I didn’t even think to ask, I was so freaked out,” she admitted. “I also told him I have a lawyer, which was a total lie. I don’t even know how you get a lawyer,” she joked weakly.

  “Well, that was good thinking, at least!” Ally replied enthusiastically. Ally was good at always seeing the positive in the situation. “I have a friend who’s a lawyer,” she volunteered. “We went to high school together, and now he lives here in the city. I don’t know what kind of lawyer, but hopefully he can help, or at least recommend someone,” she continued.

  “Oh Ally, that would be wonderful. Thank you. Can I have his number?” Lucy asked. “I feel like I should get a lawyer as soon as I can,” she added ruefully.

  “Let’s call him together,” Ally said, pulling out her cell phone. She was interrupted by a loud crash from the bathroom.

  “The cat!” Lucy exclaimed, startling. “I forgot all about the cat!” She jumped to her feet and hurried across the small apartment.

  “Okay,” Ally called out patiently. “I’ll give him a call while you make sure that poor thing is still alive,” she added.

  Lucy carefully opened the door to the bathroom, where she was greeted by the kitten’s small face peering up at her from where he was curled up inside the sink. The toiletries she usually kept on the bathroom counter were scattered all over the bathroom floor.

  “Well, that explains the noise,” she said to the kitten, moving inside the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

  “What are you doing in the sink?” she asked him as she picked up her toothbrush. “You know, I had this stuff up there for a reason,” she continued, gesturing at the items now scattered across the floor. “I guess maybe I didn’t do a very good job kitten-proofing this room,” she admitted, looking around at the destruction. All her toiletries were on the floor, her towel had been dragged from it’s hook onto the floor, and the bathmat was scrunched into the corner, with a new, mysterious stain on it.

  The tiny cat looked back at her with an innocent expression.

  “Oh fine!” Lucy conceded. “You can have the sink. I’ll put all this stuff somewhere else.” She opened the door to the cabinet under the sink and shoved everything inside. “I’ll deal with everything else later,” she said, more to herself than to the kitten. She gave him a tentative pat on the head.

 

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