Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
VAL
My phone alarm reminded me to pick up my son from school.
Grabbing my purse, I reached inside to shut off the alarm, then ran my fingers over the cold but soothing metal of the pistol I had sandwiched between my makeup bag and my billfold.
I hated carrying it.
I hated more that I might not be safe without it.
“Marcy, I have to pick up the kid,” I called out. “Can you handle the line?”
I threw my purse over one shoulder and grabbed a small bag of freshly baked cookies for Enzo on my way to the door.
“No problem, Val,” my very bubbly employee said.
She took my place at the register, helping the next customer with a sweet smile and her cheerfully casual demeanor that screamed middle-class suburban family from the Midwest.
Her constant cheeriness was literally a godsend for my café when we had to deal with arrogant customers. She handled them with much more patience than I could. Beyond that, her sunny disposition seemed a little over-the-top to me.
None of my employees ever stayed long, though. Most were students who could work for me only as long as it took them to earn their degrees. Once they graduated and moved on, I got the next fresh crop of college kids to break in all over again.
I must have promised myself a dozen times that when the next hiring cycle came around, I would only bring on college students from New York. Maybe Boston or Chicago if they were less sunny and more sarcastic like me.
On my way out, with a second thought, I turned back to grab my travel mug and fill it with the fresh fall blend I’d made, a blonde roast brewed with cloves and cinnamon in the basket.
The flavor trick came to me from my adopted nonna , the woman who had left me her café, Con Amore, when she passed. No one else knew her special recipes.
I topped my coffee with some pumpkin spice foam, and then finally pushed out the front door.
As I hit the sidewalk, I completed my daily ritual… one more check inside my purse before leaving the café to get Enzo. And like the day before, my pistol was still there, unregistered, serial numbers filed off, fully loaded, with the safety engaged.
During the last few months, the gun had become more than a precaution.
It had become a necessity… my last line of defense.
I hadn’t been able to prove it, but the signs were there. Someone was watching me, following me, so I carried the pistol.
With everything in order, I headed off into the beautiful fall afternoon.
Brooklyn’s tree-lined streets were bursting with the vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds of a New England autumn. As I made my way to Enzo’s school, I noticed even the air smelled sweeter, scented with crisp earth and a hint of apple.
Most nine-year-old kids in Brooklyn walked themselves home from school. Many of them didn’t have a choice. And though we only lived a few blocks away from the school, I made it my priority to schedule my day around being there for my son.
We had talked about him being old enough to walk home on his own or even with a group of friends if he wanted that.
But then I pushed out the date by several months, around the same time I started carrying a loaded firearm in my purse.
At the end of my ten-minute walk to Saint Christopher Catholic Academy, I spotted Enzo right away. Even if he hadn’t been almost a head taller than the other boys, his dark golden curls and his olive complexion made him stand out.
His usual stern expression didn’t help him blend in either.
As he pumped his legs to swing higher in a competition with two of his classmates, that stern, unwavering concentration never left his face.
My heart, though, seized up every time he pushed himself farther toward the sky—farther away from me—but I did my best to hide it.
Sometimes I worried I would never really understand what went on in his head behind that calm, stoic expression. My boy could be completely unreadable at times, hiding his thoughts and emotions with a meticulousness I found a little eerie for a nine-year-old.
It didn’t help knowing where that part of him came from.
I hoped to keep Enzo safe from the details about his father for as long as I could.
A familiar and unwelcome male voice split my focus from Enzo’s swinging competition.
“Ms. Salera, hi. I’m glad I caught you. I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk.”
With a tight smile, I turned to Enzo’s social sciences teacher while fighting the urge to storm away.
“Mr. Luka, hi. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again,” I said.
Then I returned my attention to the swing set, hoping this “chance to talk” wasn’t code for more of his attempts to flirt with me. Maybe he would just express his disappointment in me for having missed the last night of parent-teacher conferences.
The same thought must have gone through Enzo’s head as he watched us. He didn’t stop swinging, but a thin line darkened between his brows as he scowled at his teacher.
“I… um… I wanted to talk to you about one of Enzo’s recent assignments,” Mr. Luka said.
Good. At least I could mark attempted flirtation off the list, though I tried not to look too relieved.
“Which one?”
“Well, the fourth-grade students have been exploring their personal genealogies in class. You know, their family trees.”
“Mm-hmm… yes, I do know,” I said.
It took more energy than I had not to tell the man to mind his damn business. I knew where the conversation was going.
“Yes, well, he put your name and the name of your grandmother on his tree. The grandmother who used to make me the best cappuccinos at that little café down the street.”
My tight smile quickly soured, and all I wanted was to get out of that conversation.
“Con Amore, yes. So? I hope you’re not about to tell me the history of inherited family businesses is part of the assignment.”
Mr. Luka chuckled, his breath puffing out near the side of my face. He kept grinning while I watched Enzo.
The man stood way too close to me.
“No, nothing quite that detailed,” he said. “But I couldn’t help noticing the paternal side of Enzo’s family tree was blank, and he’s usually quick to complete his assignments in class?—”
“His father isn’t in the picture,” I blurted to make him stop.
But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it had been the wrong thing to say.
Mr. Luka’s gaze roamed down my body and then slowly came back to my face, like he was trying to memorize every curve to better imagine what I looked like without my sweater.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“What? I'm sorry, Mr. Luka, but?—”
“Please, call me Donnie.”
His thousand-watt smile probably sent many women down on their knees. But it didn’t work on me. And it never would.
With his overly styled hair, waxed eyebrows, overpriced but poorly tailored suit, and his obvious veneers, he might as well color me unimpressed.
I guessed the man was attractive enough if you were into that kind of thing.
But something about him sent an alarm blasting through my bones, telling me to stay the fuck away.
This was not the type of man I would consider inviting into my life… or my bed.
Donnie Luka pretended to be strong and in control, but from the moment I’d met him at the beginning of the school year, I marked him as a man who would fold under the pressure of any real challenge.
He would never understand me or where I had come from, nor would he be capable of protecting me and my son.
Enzo and I needed protection more than anything else.
So far, relying on only myself for that protection had been and probably would remain my best option.
As we stood there, him undressing me with his eyes, I pretended his disgusting behavior wasn’t so obvious, that he might be capable of some level of protection and decency.
I knew, though, he would never be capable of that.
He was a weasel, not a good man with good intentions.
“Mr. Luka,” I said firmly, “I doubt Enzo is the only child in your class who lives in a single parent household. Tell me, though, do the other single parents get interrogated like this?”
“You're right.” His smile didn’t change. “Your son isn’t unique in that regard. Plenty of students here at Saint Christopher are being raised in a more… modern environment.”
The way he said it implied modern was less than ideal.
I took a step back and folded my arms.
“Still,” he added, “most of these children in single parent households do know who their fathers are at the very least.”
Everything inside me screamed to make this man shut up, but a public display of rage and discomfort on my part would do me no good. And it wouldn’t help Enzo.
But Mr. Luka just couldn’t stop himself.
“Most have at least one line of contact open with their father, or if not with him directly, then with others in that paternal line. Grandparents are still involved. Aunts and uncles. Family. Enzo seems to have no one?—”
“Because there is no one, Mr. Luka.”
The second I interrupted him, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer. This conversation had already gone too far for too long, and it needed to stop. Now.
“My son’s father had no living family before his deployment to Iraq. Which, by the way, was his last tour. So no, my son isn’t fortunate enough to have even one open line of contact with his dead father who never got to hold his own son.
“And by the way you’re talking about it now makes it sound like you think that’s somehow Enzo's fault. Maybe you think he deserves to be punished for having only his mother to raise him. So I have to ask, Mr. Luka, is that what you’re trying to say to me this afternoon? Are you going to fail my son over this?”
He gaped at me, blinking furiously, then cleared his throat.
“No. That’s not what… I… I’m sorry. I… didn't realize.”
In any other situation, I might have jumped in to save him from stumbling all over himself.
Not this time.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked about Enzo’s father, and it wouldn’t be the last time someone forced me to tell the lie that had become as close to the truth as my son would ever know.
But Donnie Luka made my skin crawl, so he wasn’t getting a pass like others might get.
He continued after clearing his throat again and reaching into his light overcoat to tug on the collar of his shirt.
“I… I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you. Raising such a smart and willful boy on your own. All I mean to say is, a boy like Enzo would really benefit from having a strong male role model in his life as well.”
And after all that, the slimeball had the balls to settle his hand on my shoulder.
I quickly brushed him away and stepped back. My cheeks heated as I clenched my teeth together for a minute and tightened my hands into fists at my sides.
“Enzo and I get along fine as we are, thank you very much.”
I thought most men might have taken my reaction as enough to move on, but this jerk was one determined bastard.
He nodded toward the swing set at Enzo.
“Oh, I'm sure you do. For now, anyway, while he's still a child. But he’ll grow up, Ms. Salera, sooner than you think. And as strong as Enzo is now, and with the leadership qualities he’s already exhibiting in the short time I’ve known him, the lack of a father figure comes with an incredibly high risk.
“Enzo could channel those strengths in the wrong direction. He needs someone to teach him what kind of man he should become.”
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
“Oh believe me, Mr. Luka, I know exactly what kind of man I want my son to be. And what kind of man Enzo needs in his life. But so far, that man hasn’t entered our lives.”
Luka choked back his reaction for a minute.
“That’s… Ms. Salera, you can’t honestly?—”
“I do but thank you for your concern. I really could have gone without your unsolicited advice, though.”
Before I had to further test my ability to bite my tongue, Enzo appeared at my side and slipped his hand through my arm, pulling down, so he could lace his fingers through mine.
Looking down at him with a smile, I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Hey, buddy. Ready to go home?”
He looked at me with his gorgeous blue eyes and nodded. Then all the love and admiration I had learned to recognize in my son’s gaze, despite his stoicism, disappeared when he shot his teacher an annoyed frown.
I wished I hadn’t seen that look before in another person. In someone who had made it impossible for me to not see what he had passed down to my son, including that exact expression, with those matching eyes.
“You have a nice evening, Mr. Luka,” I said.
And with Enzo's hand in mine, we walked away before his teacher could say anything else to me or to him.
The defensive mood and the bitterness that man had dragged out of me needed to be gone by the time we got back to the café. The last thing I wanted was for my customers to taste it in their coffee.
“How’s work going today, Mama?” Enzo asked.
“Work?” I flashed him a surprised smile. “Good, buddy. It’s good. We’ve been pretty busy today, and everyone showed up for their shifts on time. So that’s a good thing too.”
“Why’s it so busy?”
“Well, if I had to guess, I would say it has a lot to do with college midterms this week. So there are a lot of students coming in, studying, and loading up on caffeine. Plus, the constant rush of deliveries from the college and the new fall flavors being a massive hit always helps.”
I caught myself then, noticing how easily I slipped into talking to my nine-year-old as if he were one of those college students instead. Talking to Enzo certainly felt like talking to a young adult so much of the time, though when I flashed him another sly smile, he was nine again.
“And you know what that means, right?”
An excited jump broke the rhythm of his steps as he tugged on my hand.
“I get to wait tables and make tips while everyone else fills the orders?”
“Yes, but only after your homework is done.”
He pumped his fist in the air and jumped again.
“Yes!”
Most boys his age probably preferred to ride their bikes or climb trees rather than work with their moms in a fast-paced spot like Con Amore.
My Enzo wasn’t most boys.
It hadn’t taken me long to recognize how much he loved it the first time I let him serve a single table just for fun. That was also the first time I’d seen him smiling and chatting up complete strangers, even laying on the charm with some of the women.
“Did you make the new lemon cookies yet?” he asked.
I held up the little brown bag.
“Sure did. And I saved you some for after dinner.”
The bright smile he shot me made my heart melt. This little angel. My miracle. The one bright spot in a life that I’d thought would be dark forever.
“So how was school today, buddy?” I asked.
“Good. We learned about…”
He rambled on, talking excitedly about some new books they were reading and the science project his class had started. The way he talked about dinosaur bones and fossils, his eyes lit up, one free hand flailing around in his enthusiasm.
Watching him like that made everything worth it.
All my sacrifices.
All my lies.
Then he caught me off guard with another topic change.
“Mama, why was Mr. Luka talking to you?”
“Oh, no reason,” I said. “He just wanted to tell me how well you’re doing in class.”
That familiar frown flashed across his face again, the single line creasing between his brows perfectly echoing his father’s.
“Yeah, but he looks at you funny.”
I tried to shrug it off as casually as possible.
“I wouldn’t say that, Enzo.”
“Well, I would. He doesn’t look at other moms like that.”
“It's fine, kiddo.”
Mr. Luka didn’t concern me. I’d dealt with plenty of men like him, and unfortunately would have to do it again.
What did concern me? His very personal questions.
Enzo knew the story I’d been telling others about his father for years. And he knew it was a lie. For now, though, he seemed content to know his father just wasn't in our lives.
But that wouldn’t last forever.
Soon he would start asking questions.
The day would come soon, and it scared the shit out of me.
There was always the possibility that my past would come back to haunt me. I hadn't moved since separating myself from that past. I still lived where Stefano had last seen me. He only needed to cross the river to find me, to see he had a son.
Running would’ve been the smarter thing to do, and I had considered it more times than I could count over the years. But seeing those two pink lines on a pregnancy test had terrified me.
I couldn’t raise a child all alone, on the run.
Staying put had its advantages too. I knew the city. I had a job. Enzo and I had as much family as was possible for us… him, me, and the woman he knew as my nonna who had helped me raise my boy.
After so many years, the idea of leaving Brooklyn now felt like someone else’s dream from long ago.
Still, I kept a stash of money hidden in my apartment, along with current passports for Enzo and me. Better to have them and never need them than to go without and end up wishing that somewhere down the line I had been more prepared.
We crossed the street, and Con Amore was in sight.
“Mama, I’ll go get my uniform. Be right back,” Enzo said.
“Sure. Go on upstairs and get changed.”
I let go of his hand, and he ran inside the café, heading straight for the hidden staircase behind the kitchen that led to our second-floor apartment.
Plenty of empty cups and plates covered with crumbs sat around for me to clean up once I got inside. More dishes than usual, but not so many that I couldn’t have the place cleaned up before the next rush of customers came through the door.
As I stood in front of the large picture window overlooking the street, an icy chill crept up my spine and settled on the back of my neck, refusing to let me go.
I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet, but something didn’t feel right.
The street looked the same as always, with cars parked along either side, neighbors walking their dogs, students hustling back and forth with their bulging backpacks and laughing with their friends.
Nothing stood out as dangerous or even oddly curious.
But the eerie sensation stuck with me.
The same one I’d had for weeks now after living quietly for so many years, believing like a complete idiot that everything might really be okay.
I was wrong.
Someone out there was watching me again.
Following me.