Page 54 of Caterina
Bianca’s eyes narrow.
“That’s a hell of a thing to say to my face in my restaurant.”
“It’s a hell of a situation,” I reply. “And if there’s a leak inside the family’s structure, then everybody with regular access to family patterns matters.”
Roberto leans back slightly in his chair, studying me with that same scalpel-calm. “He’s talking about proximity, not accusing your staff.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I’m talking about routines. Visibility. Who sees who, when, and how often.”
Caterina’s mouth tightens. “You really do know how to make a pleasant meal feel like a hostage situation.”
“No,” Giovanni says before I can answer. “He knows how to make you see the room the way an enemy would.”
“How much does your staff know about what's going on?” I ask Bianca.
“None,” Bianca says, confused and a bit annoyed. “Why would they?”
“Say a patron orders the lunch special and really likes it, wants to compliment the chef, but you ran out for a couple of hours,” I start. “If your staff doesn’t know what’s going on, their server will think nothing of saying, ‘Oh, I'm sorry. She's not here right now, but she'll be here for dinner if you'd like to come back later...’ And now some random patron knows the next time you'll be in the restaurant.”
Bianca’s expression changes—understanding, but also a healthy dose of fear.
“That’s not much,” she says, but there’s less certainty in it now. She shoots Giovanni a look of alarm.
“It doesn’t have to be much,” I say.
Roberto’s fingers tap once against the stem of his glass. “Pattern confirmation.”
“Yes.” I look back at Bianca. “And it’s not limited to one staff member. Asking pointed questions to, say, five different staffers can build a schedule fast,” I say. “One person mentions dinner. Another mentions you’re usually here by 9:00. Now they know when you're in the parking garage. A third says your husband stops by every Wednesday for lunch after a meeting upstairs. Another one mentions Roberto has weekly meetings with Caterina and Giovanni. Put two and two together, and now they know where all four of you are every Wednesday at a certain time. None of them thinks they’ve said anything important. Together, it’s a map. And it gets bigger and bigger the more people you add.”
Bianca is still and pale.
Olivia’s expression has lost its amusement entirely.
Giovanni’s gaze shifts toward the kitchen doors, then back to me. “So we tighten mouths.”
“Yes,” I say. “Starting now. And randomize your schedules. Don’t give any one person your full schedule, and change up your routes driving in and out. The safest schedule is a completely random one.”
Roberto nods once. “Need-to-know only.”
“Exactly.” I look at Bianca again. “Nobody discusses when you’re here, when you’re leaving, when family is expected, which entrances you use, or whether the children are with you. Not casually. Not to regulars. Not to vendors. Not to anyone who doesn’t absolutely need it. In fact, I would recommend not bringing the children in at all. Not only are they the most vulnerable, but they're a weak point.”
“A weak point?” she repeats, her voice edged. “They’re children.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly why.”
Bianca’s arm slides around Victoria, pulling her off the blanket and into her lap. “Absolutely not.”
I keep my tone even. “I’m not saying that to be cruel. I’m saying it because children change every calculation in a room. They pull attention. They limit movement. They make every adult here slower, more divided, and easier to predict.”
Roberto’s gaze stays on me, unreadable. “And if they stay home?”
“Then you remove one variable,” I say. “A major one.”
Olivia looks down at Isabella, then back at me. “You make it sound like they’re bait.”
“No,” I say. “I’m saying anyone who wants leverage goes for what matters most.”
That kills what little softness was left at the table.
