Chapter 5 — Everything Means Staying

Dante glanced at his watch.

“I have men waiting.”

Rico did not answer.

I came down the final steps.

“What does tonight mean?”

Dante looked at me.

“It means you should let us handle this.”

I turned to Rico.

“Are you leaving?”

His eyes were fixed on the closed study door.

“I need to know what we have.”

“Then find out.”

Dante’s expression hardened.

Rico looked at him.

“Inside.”

I reached for my coat from the chair beside the stairs.

Rico watched me.

“You can go.”

“I know.”

My fingers tightened around the fabric.

“But before I do, you need to remember what you told him upstairs.”

Dante exhaled sharply.

“Jesus.”

Rico’s face went cold.

“Not another word, Dante.”

The silence that followed frightened me more than a raised voice would have.

Rico opened the study door.

Then he looked at me.

“Come in.”

Dante stared at him.

“Boss—”

“She’s already heard enough to know what we’re discussing.”

I did not want to enter that room.

I wanted the kitchen, the blocks on the rug, the man who had asked whether I wanted dinner.

But Leo was upstairs.

I went in.

Dante placed a photograph on the desk.

A man stood outside a body shop, his face turned toward the road.

“His name is Paul Santoro. He’s been using another name. Sleeping above the shop for the last four nights.”

Rico picked up the photograph.

“What connects him?”

“The car. The company it was registered to. The witness.”

“Has the witness identified him?”

Dante hesitated.

“Not formally.”

“Then how certain are we?”

“Certain enough.”

Rico’s eyes lifted.

“That wasn’t my question.”

Dante pressed his tongue against his cheek.

“The witness recognized him from a photograph. He’s afraid to say it to the detectives.”

I stood near the bookcase.

The room smelled of leather and stale tobacco.

Rico held the photograph by one corner.

I watched his thumb move over the man’s face.

“What happens if you go there?” I asked.

Dante turned.

“You don’t want that answer.”

“I want Rico to answer.”

Rico set the photograph down.

“This man helped kill my wife.”

The words were quiet.

I felt them anyway.

“I understand why you want to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

He looked at me then.

“I don’t know what it feels like to lose the person you married that way,” I continued. “I know what Leo asked you today.”

Rico’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t use my son to make a point.”

“He’s the reason I’m making it.”

Dante stepped away from the desk.

I resisted the urge to retreat.

“You’ve been here a few weeks,” he said. “You don’t know what happened before you walked into a restaurant.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know who’s been watching this house. You don’t know why those men stand outside.”

“I know why security is here.”

“No. You know why you think it’s here.”

“Dante,” Rico said.

His security chief stopped.

I looked back at Rico.

“If you go tonight, are you going to tell Leo before you leave?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Then when he wakes up?”

“I’ll be home.”

“You don’t know that.”

His face changed.

For a moment, I thought he might order me out.

Instead, he asked, “What would you have me do?”

“Find another way.”

“You think I haven’t tried?”

“Have you given this information to the detective?”

Dante gave a short, humorless laugh.

“The detective doesn’t even have enough to make the witness talk.”

“Then ask your lawyer what can be done.”

Rico turned away.

Through the window, I could see a car waiting at the curb.

Two men stood beside it.

This was not an argument about an imaginary decision.

People were waiting for Rico to put on his jacket.

He looked at the photograph again.

“Elena went to that event because I stayed at a meeting.”

I said nothing.

“I kept her waiting that morning. She asked whether I was coming. I told her I’d meet her there.”

His voice had become flat.

“I didn’t.”

Dante lowered his eyes.

Rico pressed both hands against the desk.

“She called once from the car. I didn’t answer.”

My chest hurt.

I could not excuse that memory or take it away.

But I could see what he wanted to do with it.

“Hurting him won’t change which call you answered,” I said.

Rico looked up so sharply I almost stepped back.

Dante muttered my name like a warning.

I kept going because stopping halfway would leave only the cruelty of the sentence.

“And it won’t change what happened to Elena. But it could change whether Leo gets another call nobody knows how to explain to him.”

Rico stared at me.

My hands were shaking.

I held them against the strap of my bag.

“I’m not asking you to forgive anybody.”

“Then stop sounding as though I should.”

“I’m asking you not to leave your son with something worse.”

His eyes flicked toward the ceiling.

Dante crossed his arms.

“If we miss him, he disappears again.”

“Then tell the people investigating where he is,” I said.

“And if they do nothing?”

I had no answer that would satisfy him.

Rico straightened.

“What exactly do we have that they don’t?”

Dante looked at him.

“The witness connection. His current address. The vehicle registration trail.”

“What else?”

For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed names, dates, a company that existed mostly on paper, and a man who might speak if he believed his family would be safe.

Rico asked questions.

Dante answered more carefully now.

I sat in the chair near the door.

Nobody pretended I understood everything.

But I understood that certainty had become less certain once Rico demanded details.

Finally, he reached for his phone.

Dante uncrossed his arms.

“Who are you calling?”

“My attorney.”

“Rico.”

His employer looked up.

Dante rarely used his first name.

“This is our chance.”

Rico held his gaze.

Then he made the call.

I listened to one side of a conversation that sounded less satisfying than revenge probably would have.

Rico had to repeat the address.

He had to explain how the witness had been approached.

At one point, his attorney said something that made him close his eyes.

“No,” Rico replied. “I’m asking you to contact the detective tonight. Tell him what we have. Tell him the man may leave tomorrow.”

A pause.

“Then find out what he needs.”

Another pause.

“Yes. Through you.”

He ended the call.

Dante looked at the phone.

“That’s it?”

“For tonight.”

“The others won’t understand.”

“Tell them I said to go home.”

“Some of them think you’ve waited long enough.”

Rico’s expression hardened.

“They can wait longer.”

Dante glanced at me.

I looked down.

I did not want to become the explanation he gave other men for Rico’s decision.

Rico noticed.

“This is mine,” he said.

Dante returned his attention to him.

“My decision,” Rico repeated. “Make sure you remember that when you speak to them.”

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then Dante nodded.

He took out his phone and left the room.

I let out a breath.

Rico sat behind the desk.

The photograph lay between us.

“I don’t feel better,” he said.

“I didn’t think you would.”

He looked tired again.

Angrier too, but the anger had nowhere simple to go.

“You were willing to walk out?”

I frowned.

“What?”

“If I went.”

I thought about Leo.

About the promises I had made to return.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I would have had to think about what being here meant.”

Rico nodded slowly.

He did not accuse me of threatening him.

I was grateful for that.

A sound came from the doorway.

We both turned.

Leo stood barefoot in his pajamas, his bear hanging from one hand.

Rico rose immediately.

“What are you doing up?”

Leo looked at the photograph.

Then at his father’s phone.

“Daddy go?”

Rico came around the desk.

“No.”

Leo’s eyes moved to me.

“Clara go?”

“I’m going home soon.”

His mouth tightened.

“Daddy too?”

“No,” Rico said. “I’m staying here with you.”

He crouched and opened his arms.

Leo waited.

Then he crossed the room.

Rico held him, one hand cupping the back of his head.

From the hall came Dante’s low voice, sending the waiting men away.

Leo rested his cheek against his father’s shoulder.

“Daddy stayed.”

Rico closed his eyes.

I picked up my coat.

Before I reached the door, Dante returned.

He watched Rico carrying Leo toward the stairs.

Then he looked at me.

“People are going to call this weakness.”

I glanced at the small hand gripping Rico’s collar.

“Are you?”

Dante said nothing.