Chapter 6 — The Price of a Kept Promise

Dante held the front door open for me.

Outside, the car that had been waiting for Rico pulled away from the curb.

Its passenger looked toward the house as it passed.

Dante watched until it turned the corner.

“I asked you something,” I said.

“I heard.”

“Then answer.”

He looked down at me.

For once, there was no amusement in his face.

“I’ve kept that man alive for years.”

“I know.”

“No. You know I carry a gun. That isn’t the same thing.”

I pulled my coat closed.

Dante leaned against the doorframe.

“He used to call Elena when a meeting ran late. She would tell him to come home before dinner went cold.”

I waited.

“After she died, he stopped caring whether dinner existed.”

Inside, a floorboard creaked upstairs.

Dante glanced toward the sound.

“I don’t know what this makes him,” he said. “But he went up there instead of out here.”

It was not an answer exactly.

It was enough for that night.

Eleven days later, Rico’s attorney called while we were building a road across the living-room rug.

Leo had decided every block needed to belong to the same bridge.

This was structurally ambitious.

Rico sat opposite him, holding a support in place.

His phone vibrated.

He checked the name, then looked at his son.

“I need to talk to Mr. Adler.”

Leo kept stacking.

“Office?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Five minutes. If I need longer, I’ll come tell you.”

Leo nodded.

Rico handed me the block he had been holding.

Our fingers touched.

He paused just long enough for me to notice.

Then he stood.

I stared at the bridge.

Leo pointed.

“You crooked.”

“I’ve been told.”

He corrected the block.

Rico returned before the timer ended.

He sat beside us but did not immediately help.

I looked up.

“What happened?”

“They arrested him.”

My hand stopped above the rug.

Leo reached for the block.

“Mine.”

I gave it to him.

Rico watched his son position it carefully.

“On a weapons charge,” he added quietly. “Not Elena’s murder.”

“So the investigation—”

“Continues.”

He said the word with obvious dislike.

Leo leaned across his knees.

“Daddy hold.”

Rico looked down.

Then he took the block.

“I’ve got it.”

We spoke in the kitchen after Mrs. Alvarez took Leo upstairs to change.

Rico stood at the counter with both hands around a cup of coffee he hadn’t tasted.

“Adler says the detective wants another statement.”

“From you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to give it?”

His gaze lifted.

“I already agreed.”

“All right.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m trying not to assume.”

He considered that.

Then he looked back at the coffee.

“They found him. They have him. And I’m supposed to wait.”

“You were waiting before.”

“That was different.”

Because before, I thought, he had still imagined a night when he could end the waiting himself.

Now other people would decide what happened next.

I could see how badly that sat with him.

“Do you want me to say it’s enough?” I asked.

“No.”

“Good.”

His mouth moved faintly.

“I would like you to stop being right in such an irritating tone.”

“I haven’t even had coffee.”

He pushed his cup toward me.

I looked at it.

“You haven’t drunk from this?”

“No.”

I took a sip.

It was strong enough to remove paint.

Rico watched my face.

“Too much?”

“Your coffee has enemies.”

He laughed.

The sound was brief and unexpectedly warm.

I handed the cup back.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then footsteps sounded overhead, and he looked toward the ceiling.

I stepped away from the counter.

Dr. Feld asked us to make the house feel less like an emergency that had lasted seven months.

She spoke to Rico about routines and to Dante about what Leo could see.

I was present because Rico asked me to describe the boy’s reactions during my visits.

Dante listened with his hands clasped behind his back.

“So you want nobody near him,” he said.

“I want him to have family rooms where security isn’t the most noticeable feature,” Dr. Feld replied.

“We can move men away from the doors,” Rico said.

Dante looked at him.

“There are sight lines.”

“Then work out different ones.”

It took several days.

The guards did not disappear.

They moved outside, to entrances and less visible positions. Radios stopped crackling in the kitchen. Dante began leaving his jacket and equipment elsewhere before joining Leo on the rug.

The first time he sat down, Leo watched him suspiciously.

Dante picked up a wooden truck.

“Does this one work?”

Leo nodded.

“Wheel bad.”

Dante inspected it.

“You’ve got a maintenance problem.”

Leo crawled closer.

“Fix?”

“I’ll try.”

I watched from the doorway.

Dante looked up at me.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You look like you’re about to.”

“I was going to say the little screwdriver is in the basket.”

He held out his hand.

I gave it to him.

Rico arrived ten minutes later to find his security chief repairing a toy beneath the supervision of a very demanding three-year-old.

He leaned beside me.

“Should I be worried?”

“About the truck?”

“About Dante’s loyalty. Leo appears to be taking over.”

I smiled.

Rico looked at me instead of the rug.

I felt it before I turned.

His gaze stayed on my face for a second longer than it needed to.

Then Leo called for him, and the moment passed.

I was glad.

I was disappointed.

Both feelings followed me to work.

Keeping my restaurant shifts mattered more once my afternoons at the house began feeling familiar.

I needed somewhere I was simply Clara, the waitress who knew table twelve always complained about the draft.

I needed bills I paid myself and plans that did not depend on Rico’s mood.

He paid me for the hours we had agreed on.

No envelope appeared.

No one called my landlord.

At least, no one I knew about.

When my schedule changed, Rico asked whether Tuesday or Thursday would work better.

I chose Thursday.

He wrote it down.

It was such an ordinary exchange that I thought about it all the way home.

The next week, Leo refused to let me leave without seeing the picture he had made of his truck.

I checked the time.

“I can look at it, but then I need to go.”

“Stay.”

“I can’t tonight.”

His face tightened.

Rico came into the hall.

For a second, I feared he would offer money or tell someone to cover my shift.

Instead, he crouched beside his son.

“Clara told us she was leaving at five.”

Leo held the picture behind his back.

“She stay.”

“I’ll look now,” I said. “Or you can keep it for Thursday.”

He considered this.

Then he gave it to me.

I admired the six wheels and the enormous exhaust pipe.

At the door, Rico took my coat from the hook.

“I’m learning,” he said.

“I noticed.”

He held it open.

I hesitated, then slipped my arms into the sleeves.

His hands stayed lightly at my shoulders while I settled the fabric.

Warmth moved through me with embarrassing speed.

He released me at once.

“Thursday,” he said.

“Yes.”

I left before I could make that sound like something more.

The rain started while Leo and I were drawing at the dining table.

Rico was upstairs on a scheduled call.

Mrs. Alvarez had gone to the pantry for another box of crayons because Leo claimed the blue one had become too short to work.

I watched him press green circles onto the page.

“Are those wheels?”

“Trees.”

“My mistake.”

He added another.

The first thunderclap rattled the windows.

Leo dropped his crayon.

I looked at him.

“Loud, wasn’t it?”

His eyes fixed on the glass.

Another flash lit the room.

He slid from his chair before the thunder followed.

“Leo?”

He scrambled beneath the table.

I pushed my chair back slowly and crouched several feet away.

The sound crashed over the house.

Leo covered his ears.

“No!”

I kept my hands where he could see them.

“It’s the storm.”

“No bang!”

Rico appeared in the doorway.

He must have heard the shout upstairs.

“What happened?”

“Thunder.”

He stepped toward the table.

Leo screamed.

Rico stopped.

I looked back at him.

“Stay there a second.”

The boy rocked beneath the table, his bear trapped against his chest.

Mrs. Alvarez came out of the pantry.

I shook my head gently.

She stopped beside the counter.

Nobody reached under the table.

Rain struck the windows harder.

Leo squeezed his eyes shut.

“No bang car.”

Rico’s face lost its color.

I sat on the floor.

“Leo, I’m here.”

He shook his head.

“Mommy car bang.”

Behind me, Rico drew in a breath.

I looked up at him.

The red sauce. The courtyard. The boy watching every hand and every doorway.

Rico lowered himself slowly to the floor.

“Leo.”

The child shrank farther beneath the table.

“Daddy mad.”

Rico went still.

Leo looked at his father with terrified certainty.

“Daddy bang.”