Chapter 6 - Tea, Then Trouble
They simply stood together.
Then Harper said, “Would you like to come in for tea?”
He hesitated.
She noticed.
“No pressure.”
“I know.”
He looked down.
“It’s been a long time.”
Her expression softened.
“Since what?”
“Since I’ve been close to someone.”
The words embarrassed him.
He had spent decades being feared.
Yet admitting loneliness frightened him more than most threats ever had.
Harper took his hand.
“Then we can have tea.”
He looked up.
“Just tea?”
“If that’s what you want.”
He smiled.
“Tea sounds wonderful.”
They went inside.
Harper made chamomile tea in mismatched mugs.
They sat on the couch and talked until after midnight.
At one point, Lorenzo told her about the doctor he’d seen after Sofia’s death.
About struggling with desire.
About feeling ashamed of how grief and age had changed him.
Harper listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she said, “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
He looked at her.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He smiled faintly.
“I’m trying to.”
She leaned against his shoulder.
They sat that way for a long time.
Then Harper kissed him again.
This time, Lorenzo didn’t pull away.
He held her carefully.
As though rediscovering something he’d believed belonged to another lifetime.
That night, their closeness deepened at a pace they both chose. They were tender with one another, sometimes laughing at their own nervousness, sometimes simply holding each other without speaking.
Nothing needed to be perfect.
No performance was required.
When morning came, Lorenzo woke beneath Harper’s quilt with sunlight touching the edge of the curtains.
She was asleep beside him.
He looked toward the window.
For twelve years, mornings had been the hardest part of the day.
The moment before memory returned.
The moment when he reached toward a space that remained empty.
Now he lay awake feeling something he had almost forgotten.
Not triumph.
Not youth.
Not the foolish belief that one night could erase grief.
Hope.
Quiet.
Unfamiliar.
And almost frightening in its tenderness.
Harper stirred.
She opened her eyes.
“Morning.”
Lorenzo smiled.
“Good morning.”
She studied him.
“You look happy.”
He considered that.
Then nodded.
“I think I am.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
He reached for her hand.
And for the first time in twelve years, Lorenzo Moretti did not feel guilty for wanting another day to begin.
The trouble began before breakfast was over.
Lorenzo’s phone rang.
Vincent Caruso.
His underboss.
The man who had managed much of the organization’s daily activity during the years Lorenzo withdrew into grief.
Lorenzo answered.
“Yes?”
Vincent’s voice was tight.
“We have a problem.”
“What kind?”
“Lombardi.”
Lorenzo glanced toward Harper.
She was pouring coffee in the kitchen.
He lowered his voice.
“Go on.”
“Frankie told Sal what happened at the restaurant. Sal says you humiliated his family.”
“Frankie humiliated himself.”
“That’s not how Sal sees it.”
“Then he’ll have to improve his eyesight.”
Vincent didn’t laugh.
“He’s refusing the proposed debt settlement. Says the money isn’t the issue.”
Lorenzo looked toward the window.
“What does he want?”
“A public apology. And he wants the waitress removed from your establishment.”
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“Boss—”
“No.”
Vincent exhaled.
“You’ve known this girl a few weeks.”
Lorenzo remained silent.
“Is she worth disrupting a five-year arrangement?”
The question settled heavily.
Lorenzo looked toward Harper.
She was humming softly while searching for clean cups.
He had spent years protecting arrangements that benefited men like Sal Lombardi.
Men who considered fear an acceptable business tool.
Men who turned another person’s weakness into leverage.
For the first time, he wondered how many similar arrangements he’d defended without thinking.
“I’ll speak with Elena Russo,” he said.
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Since when do we settle these matters through attorneys?”
“Since this involves harassment, unlawful debt collection, and threats against an employee.”
Vincent went silent.
Then said, “You’re changing the rules.”
Lorenzo looked at Harper again.
“Maybe they needed changing.”
He ended the call.
Harper turned.
“Everything okay?”
He looked at her.
For a moment, he considered telling her not to worry.
Then remembered how much he had come to value honesty.
“No,” he said.
Her smile faded.
“What’s happened?”
“Sal Lombardi isn’t pleased about Frankie being removed from the restaurant.”
Harper slowly set down the coffee pot.
“Is he coming after me?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked toward the window.
“Lorenzo.”
He approached.
“I’ve asked my attorney to handle the debt and the threats. I also think you should speak directly with the police about what Frankie did.”
Harper stared.
“You want me to go to the police?”
“Yes.”
“Against the Lombardis?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“And what happens if they retaliate?”
His expression tightened.
“Then we make sure the threats are documented and take steps to keep you safe.”
She folded her arms.
“Not by locking me in some house.”
“No.”
“Not by sending men to follow me without asking.”
“No.”
She studied him.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Lorenzo reached for her hand.
She took it.
May you like
And for a moment, they stood in the small kitchen together, both understanding that the night they’d shared had not changed the danger surrounding them.
It had only made the cost of that danger impossible to ignore.
