“You all right?” Helen asked.
“Fine.” Ruth straightened her pearl earrings, checked her hair in the rearview mirror, and smoothed the front of her blouse. It was the same preparation ritual she performed before church, and it served the same purpose — armor.
They walked in.
La Stella was exactly what Nans had expected — checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, Frank Sinatra drifting from hidden speakers, and framed photographs covering every inch of wall space. Ruth’s cousin Frankie with the mayor. Frankie with a local news anchor. Frankie with a man in a very expensive suit whose face Nans recognized from somewhere she couldn’t quite place. The air smelled like garlic, tomatoes, and fresh bread, and despite everything, Nans’ stomach rumbled.
The restaurant was practically empty. A young man in a white shirt nodded and gestured toward the back.
Frankie Malone sat in the last booth, which was larger than the others and positioned so that its occupant could see both the front door and the kitchen entrance. He was a big man — not fat, just large, the kind of build that filled a room even when he was sitting down. He wore a silk shirt the color of dark wine, open at the collar, and a gold watch that caught the light every time he moved his hands, which was constantly. His hair was silver, thick, swept back from a face that was all warmth and appetite and sharp, quick eyes that missed nothing.
In front of him was an enormous plate of pasta — rigatoni in a red sauce that looked like it had been simmering since dawn — and a basket of bread that had clearly been torn into with enthusiasm.
“Ruthie!” He stood, arms wide, and enveloped Ruth in a hug that lifted her slightly off the ground. Ruth endured it with the rigid posture of someone being embraced by a bear. “You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. Sit, sit. All of you.”
He turned to the others, and his smile widened. He shook Helen’s hand gently, complimented Nans’ brooch with the practiced eye of a man who noticed details, and then his gaze landed on Ida’s purse.
He stared at it for a long moment, the way a professional might regard a colleague’s equipment. “What are you carrying in there, a hardware store?”
“Supplies,” Ida said proudly.
“I respect that.” Frankie gestured to the booth. “Please. Sit. Eat. I had them make extra.”
Within minutes, plates appeared — pasta, bread, a caprese salad with tomatoes that were somehow perfect in the middle of winter. Ida ate with undisguised delight. Helen took small, polite bites. Ruth didn’t touch her plate. Lexy held the frozen peas to her temple and watched Frankie with the careful attention of someone sizing up a source.
Frankie noticed the bruise. His expression shifted — the warmth stayed, but something harder moved in beneath it. “That happen this morning?”
“Yes,” Lexy said.
Frankie’s jaw tightened. He looked at Ruth. “Tell me.”
Ruth told him. The flour. The diamonds. The two men. The duffel bag. The recipe. She was concise and precise and left nothing out, including the alley, Bella Notte, and the Starlight Dining Group. Frankie listened without interrupting, which Nans suspected was unusual for him.
When Ruth finished, Frankie leaned back in the booth and was quiet for a moment. He picked up a piece of bread, tore it in half, and didn’t eat it.
“Victor Crane,” he said.
The name landed on the table like something heavy.
“You know him,” Nans said. It wasn’t a question.
“I know of him. Everybody in this business knows of him.” Frankie set the bread down. “Crane runs a diamond operation out of Franklin — office above a jewelry store on Elm Street, calls it Crane Luxury Imports. Very polished, very careful. The kind of guy who wears a three-thousand-dollar coat and never raises his voice.”
“How does the flour fit in?” Ruth asked.
“Smart system. Uncut diamonds come down from a contact in Montreal. Small stones, easy to miss. They get mixed loose into bags of specialty flour — the expensive kind, the stuff that only goes to restaurants and bakeries that order direct. The bags get delivered by hand to specific back doors before dawn. Looks like a normal food delivery if anyone sees it. The receiving end sifts the flour, pulls the stones, passes them to Crane.”
“So, how did Lexy end up with them at the Cup and Cake?” Nans asked.
Frankie thought about that. “Must have been a mistake. Probably meant for another restaurant.”
“There’s an empty store a few doors down. It’s being renovated as a new restaurant - Bella Notte,” Lexy said.
“So it was just a fluke that Lexy ordered real flour and the delivery man left the bag at the wrong door,” Helen said softly.
“In the dark, before dawn, two doors look the same.” Frankie shrugged. “Stupid mistake. But Crane doesn’t tolerate stupid mistakes. Once he realized the bag didn’t show up at Bella Notte, he’d have sent people to find it fast.”
Frankie broke off a piece of bread from the basket, then asked. “These thugs that took the diamonds, who did they look like?”
