Looking into Noah.
For both our sakes, I need to pull myself together.
So I square my shoulders, tuck the handkerchief into my apron, and throw myself back into the fire.
6
NICO
Igive her ten minutes.
Long enough for her to disappear back into the rhythm of the floor. Long enough for the handkerchief to vanish into her apron and for whatever softness crossed her face for half a second to be buried under duty. Long enough for me to remind myself that I should leave this alone, pretend I overheard nothing.
Then I watch Donald Bernardi stroll past her like a man who has never once in his life been hit hard enough for his own good, and I know I am done pretending restraint is a virtue.
I set down my glass.
Leone sees it immediately. He always does.
“We going somewhere?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
That is all the explanation he gets.
I rise from the table without hurry, adjusting my cuffs as though I am doing nothing more dramatic than stretching my legs.
Donald is near the back corridor when I intercept him.
He startles when he sees me.
“Mr. Neri,” he says, all fake charm and instant nerves. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes,” I say. “Come outside.”
His face changes almost imperceptibly. Not enough that anyone watching would clock it, but enough for me. A man like Donald survives by reading danger, even if only so he can run from it.
“I’m actually in the middle of?—”
“Outside,” I repeat.
He glances toward the dining room, like he is calculating whether making a scene would save him.
It won’t.
He must know that, because a second later he forces a laugh and nods.
“Sure. Of course.”
Leone falls in behind us.
We step through the back door into the alley, where the night air hits cold and wet against the skin. The city sounds are duller here, muffled by brick and concrete and the dumpsters lined up against one wall. It smells like rain, old grease, and the kind of desperation that soaks into a place over time.
Leone takes up position at the mouth of the alley without being told, hands in his coat pockets, eyes on the street. Anyone coming this way will see him first and decide, sensibly, to be elsewhere.
Donald turns to face me with his hands spread slightly, already smiling too hard.
“What’s this about?”
