Chapter 2
She stopped at the table.
Rico looked up.
His hand hovered near the inside of his jacket where his sidearm rested.
Who are you?
Clara stopped.
For one brief second, every instinct in her body screamed at her to turn around.
The man's hand was inside his jacket.
His guards were watching her.
The restaurant manager looked like he wanted to disappear.
And Leo was still screaming.
Clara swallowed.
"My name is Clara."
Rico's eyes narrowed.
"Clara what?"
"Clara Vance."
"You're a waitress."
"Yes."
"And you're walking toward my son."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Clara looked at Leo.
The little boy was red-faced, tears streaming down his cheeks.
His tiny fists were clenched around the front of his shirt.
He wasn't angry.
He was terrified.
Clara slowly lowered herself until she was sitting on her heels several feet away from him.
She didn't touch him.
She didn't ask him to stop crying.
She simply said:
"Because everybody keeps telling him to stop."
Rico stared at her.
Clara continued softly.
"Nobody has asked him why he's crying."
The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath.
Rico's expression hardened.
"You think you know my son?"
"No."
"Then don't pretend you do."
"I'm not pretending."
Leo screamed again.
Clara waited.
Then she whispered:
"You're not in trouble."
Leo's crying hitched.
Clara noticed.
She lowered her voice even further.
"You don't have to eat."
Another hiccup.
"You don't have to talk."
Leo's hands loosened slightly.
"And nobody is going to grab you."
Dante looked at Rico.
Rico raised one hand.
Dante stopped.
Clara slowly held out the glass of warm milk.
"I brought this."
Leo stared at it.
His lower lip trembled.
"It's warm."
He didn't move.
Clara placed the glass on the floor.
Then she moved her hand away.
"You can have it if you want."
Leo looked at his father.
Then at Clara.
Then back at the milk.
Rico whispered:
"Leo."
The boy flinched.
Clara immediately looked at Rico.
"Don't call him."
Rico's eyebrows rose.
"What?"
"Not right now."
Nobody spoke to Rico Moretti that way.
Not employees.
Not politicians.
Not rival bosses.
Certainly not a waitress earning minimum wage.
But Clara didn't seem to realize she'd just crossed a line.
"He's scared," she said.
"Let him decide."
Rico stared at her.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
Leo crawled toward the glass.
He sniffed.
Touched it.
Then picked it up with both hands.
He drank.
The restaurant remained silent.
Within seconds, his screaming stopped.
Not gradually.
Completely.
Rico stared at his son.
Dante stared at Clara.
Marco looked as though he had just witnessed a miracle.
Sarah covered her mouth near the kitchen doors.
Leo lowered the glass.
Then he did something that made Rico's entire face change.
The boy reached out.
Not toward his father.
Toward Clara.
His tiny hand opened.
Palm up.
Clara froze.
"May I?"
Leo nodded.
Clara placed one finger in his palm.
His little hand closed around it.
Rico stopped breathing.
Because Leo hadn't voluntarily touched another person in six months.
Not since Elena died.
Not once.
Rico slowly stood.
"What did you say to him?"
Clara looked up.
"Nothing special."
"He's never done that."
"I know."
"You don't know anything about him."
Clara glanced at Leo.
"I know he misses his mother."
Rico went completely still.
The restaurant seemed to disappear.
"How did you know that?"
Clara's expression softened.
"Because he keeps looking at the door."
Rico looked at the restaurant entrance.
Leo had been doing that all evening.
Waiting.
For someone.
Someone who wasn't coming.
Rico's throat tightened.
Clara continued:
"Children don't always know how to say they're grieving."
Rico stared at her.
"How do you?"
Clara looked away.
"Experience."
That was all she said.
But Rico noticed the way her fingers tightened around the edge of her apron.
Pain recognized pain.
Even when neither person wanted to admit it.
"What's your last name again?"
"Vance."
"Where are you from?"
Clara frowned.
"Brooklyn."
"No."
Rico's voice sharpened.
"Where are you really from?"
Clara looked at him.
"I don't understand."
"You have the wrong answer."
She blinked.
"I was born in Queens."
Rico studied her.
"Parents?"
"My father died when I was fourteen."
"Mother?"
"Dead."
"Any siblings?"
"No."
Dante stepped closer.
"Boss."
Rico raised his hand.
"Not now."
Leo tugged Clara's apron.
She looked down.
He pointed at the milk.
"You want more?"
Leo nodded.
Clara smiled.
"I'll get you some."
She stood.
Rico stopped her.
"Wait."
She turned.
"Yes?"
"What did you put in that?"
"Milk."
"What else?"
"One cube of sugar."
"Why?"
"Because some children like it."
Rico stared at her.
"Leo doesn't take sugar."
Clara frowned.
"He just did."
Dante almost smiled.
Rico didn't.
But something in his expression softened.
"Bring him another."
Clara nodded.
As she walked away, Sarah rushed toward her.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Getting milk."
"You just told Rico Moretti not to call his own son."
"I know."
"Are you insane?"
"Probably."
Sarah grabbed her arm.
"You're going to get fired."
Clara glanced toward the table.
Rico was watching her.
"No."
She shook her head.
"I think I'm already hired."
Sarah stared.
"What?"
May you like
Clara smiled faintly.
"I don't know yet."
