Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
VAL
I really disliked all the in-between moments at the café.
The lull in rushes, the minutes before the first customer arrived, the minutes after the last one went out the door. It was just too damn quiet, and those moments left so much space for intrusive thoughts to prowl through my mind.
You aren’t good enough.
They will find you.
He will take his son.
They know you’re alive.
After I’d locked all the doors, Enzo and I had a simple pasta dish for dinner and finished our evening chores. I lifted the last chair onto the table, and he wiped down the back counters, then we were officially done for the night.
I dreaded being done almost as much as the quiet.
Because with nothing left to keep me mindlessly busy, the thoughts would come back.
They always came back.
“So what are we reading tonight, kiddo?” I asked, hoping Enzo would take the bait and be the distraction I needed.
When he’d been about two, our nightly ritual became the best part of my day. Every night after closing the café, we went to the big leather couch in front of the picture window to read.
The streetlamp outside the window cast just enough light.
Enzo got to choose the book he wanted if he followed two rules… the story had to take place in Italy, and it couldn’t involve any form of organized crime.
I didn’t allow tales of the mafia in my home. Never.
But that didn’t mean I had to separate my son from his Italian heritage. We could still read fictional tales set in the same country where our family had come from without endangering him or causing him to ask too many questions.
“I wanna read one of the new books,” Enzo said.
While whipping up some chamomile tea and hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon for Enzo, he sorted through a stack of books on the coffee table.
“You mean the novels we grabbed from the bookstore last week? Yeah, sure. Pick the one you want to read first.”
“This one,” he said, holding up his choice. “I read the back, and it seems cool. Plus, one of the boys in class said it’s good.”
He handed me a beautiful hardbound book.
The Mask of Aribella .
I flipped to the back and skimmed over the summary. A little girl who lived in Venice, the daughter of a lacemaker. She had magical powers. The publisher compared it to Harry Potter and mentioned an award it had won.
“This sounds good, Enzo. Get settled on the couch, and I’ll grab our drinks.”
He raced for our spot by the window.
As he put out the blankets and adjusted the pillows, I added a nice splash of sambuca liqueur to my cup. After the day I’d had, a nightcap sounded so good. Then I topped Enzo’s hot chocolate with sprinkles over the whipped cream and grabbed the cookies I’d saved for him.
I carried everything over on a tray and set it on the table, then settled into my seat.
“Okay, so do you want to read first tonight, or do you want me to start?”
“I'll read the first chapter,” he said.
My son crawled under my arm, nestled down, and started reading the first page aloud as I followed along.
Almost immediately, the vividly described scenes portrayed by the author made me homesick for a land I’d never even seen.
No, not totally true.
It made me long for a person from that land who I would never see again.
Enzo finished his chapter and handed me the book. I started the next one, reading about the little girl's adventure. Her escape from danger hit a little too close to home for me, but Enzo was engrossed in the tale, so I pushed on.
When I finished my chapter, I gave the book back to him.
“Ready for bed, buddy?”
He stared at me with his intense, dark blue eyes. Eyes so much like his father’s.
“Just one more? Please, Mama?”
“One more, then up to brush your teeth and bedtime.”
I took a sip of my tea, then settled back on our couch, this time lying on my side with my arms wrapped around my son.
He’d gone through another growth spurt, I realized. It wouldn't be long until he was too big to cuddle that way. The damn thought broke my heart, but I pushed it aside, so I could stay present in the moment with him.
And while Enzo read, I let my mind go back to my earlier conversation with Mr. Luka. I didn’t want to admit it, but he might have had a point.
Maybe Enzo needed a positive male role model in his life.
Would he turn out differently without one? Would he eventually reach an age where he no longer listened to me but might listen to a father figure if one existed?
I just didn't know.
I couldn't see my sweet boy telling me no, not just yet, but he wouldn’t be my little boy forever.
So was I robbing him of the chance to reach his full potential by refusing to have a life outside of this café? By refusing to date and bring a potentially decent man into our lives?
I had tried dating years ago, once or twice. Each time, it had turned out to be a complete disaster. Not because the men were disasters. Because I’d spent the entire time feeling like I betrayed a man who I could no longer claim. A man who could no longer claim me.
Once I’d learned who Stefano really was, about his family, keeping him in my life was no longer an option.
Not even with a baby on the way.
Even after ten years, a deep, relentless guilt turned in my gut. The type of guilt I imagined I might feel if Stefano and I had stayed together, and I cheated on him.
It didn’t seem very fair to drag anyone else into my mess until I could finally release the pain of that nonexistent betrayal.
I was so fucking stupid.
And now I hated Stefano Vignali with everything in me.
He’d made it impossible for us to be together.
Enzo stopped reading, and his body stiffened in my arms.
I looked back at the book to search for a word he might not have known, but he wasn't looking at the book.
He stared out the window at the black Mercedes stopped in the middle of the street, right in front of Con Amore.
Enzo slammed the book shut.
“Mama, the car… who is that?” he asked as he jumped up.
I got up, keeping my voice calm, though my pulse raced.
“I don't know, buddy.”
But a custom Maybach like that wasn’t hard to recognize if one had been around that kind of money before. Longer, wider, with dark windows made of bulletproof glass.
“It’s probably just someone stopping to take a phone call,” I murmured. “Maybe they’re looking for the business hours on the window. No big deal.”
Oh, but it was a gigantic deal.
And then two large men in black suits got out of the car’s front doors. One had a bald head, and the other had put his dark hair in a top bun.
I didn’t recognize them, but I knew the type all too well.
The two men walked around the car and talked to someone in the back before heading toward the café.
They tried the door handle and found it locked.
My body froze in place.
I hoped the locked door and closed sign would be enough to turn them away.
But no, the bald one grabbed the handle again and pushed down hard enough to make the lock snap.
My heart beat itself into a frenzied rhythm.
“Enzo,” I whispered, “as quietly as possible, I want you to get upstairs and lock the apartment door behind you.”
“No,” he snapped.
I almost looked away from the front door to double check if my son was still there…
Because that word came out of his mouth not in the voice of my sweet, innocent boy but as the voice of a stern, confident man, or at least the beginnings of the man he would become.
Before I could say anything else, Enzo stepped in front of me and faced the door like he meant to be my shield.
“Enzo, get upstairs now,” I said through my clenched teeth.
“No. I'm not leaving you, Mama.”
Then the door creaked open, and both men came inside.
The first thing I noticed about them? The telling bulges under their jackets. These men were armed.
And my gun was still in my purse.
In the kitchen.
I grabbed Enzo’s arm and pushed him behind me, putting myself between the intruders and my child, and plastered on the fake customer service smile I used for work.
“I'm sorry, gentlemen. We’re closed. There’s a diner about two blocks down the street. The coffee is decent?—”
“Are you Valerie Salera?” the bald one interjected.
I shut my mouth and looked back and forth between them. After a minute of silence, I found my voice again.
“Yes, I am. But like I said, we’re closed for the night. So I need you to leave now or I’ll have to call the police.”
My voice didn’t waver, not like my traitorous heartbeat.
Enzo tried to come back around me, and I dug my nails into his arm. I wouldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let my baby stand between me and these fucking men.
“Calling the cops would be very unwise,” Man Bun said.
Then he spoke into his phone.
“All clear, boss. Come on in. She’s here.”