Leo saw Clara in the foyer at seven o'clock in the morning and stopped dead on the stairs.

She knelt on the marble. She didn't open her arms. She just waited.

He came down the stairs one at a time, holding the banister. He stopped in front of her and looked at her face for a long time, the way he had in the restaurant.

"You came back," he said.

"I came back."

"You go away again?"

"Not if I can help it."

He considered this. Then he walked into her chest and wrapped both arms around her neck and held on so hard she could barely breathe.

She didn't mind.

---

The next three days were strange and quiet and almost happy.

Leo ate. Not much at first—half a piece of toast, three grapes, a spoonful of Rosa's pastina—but he ate. He followed Clara from room to room like a duckling. If she went into the bathroom, he sat outside the door and talked to her through the crack. If she went down to the laundry room, he came too, carrying the stuffed rabbit he'd dragged out of some forgotten corner.

On the second night, he asked her to sit on the floor while Rico read the story.

So she did. And Rico read Goodnight Moon in three voices—his own, a high squeaky one for the bunny, and a terrible gravelly one for the old lady whispering hush—while Leo lay in bed with one hand reaching over the side, holding Clara's finger.

Halfway through, Leo fell asleep.

Rico closed the book. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

"He used to hold Elena's finger like that," Rico said quietly. "I'd forgotten."

Clara looked at the small hand curled around hers.

"Does it bother you?" she asked. "That he does it with me?"

Rico thought about it. In the glow of the moon-shaped nightlight, his face was soft in a way she'd never seen it in daylight.

"No," he said. "It makes me grateful he still knows how."

On the third night, after Leo was asleep, Rico sat with her at the kitchen island and walked her through everything he would bring to Detective Ruiz. The chop-shop receipts. The phone records Dante had pulled through a friend at the carrier. A sworn statement from Rosa. Copies of Leo's drawings, dated in Clara's handwriting.

"She'll want to talk to Leo eventually," Rico said. "With a child psychologist. Somebody gentle."

"I'll be there," Clara said.

He looked at her for a long moment.

"I know," he said. "That's the only reason I can do this."

---

Saturday came gray and cold.

Rico left at ten. He kissed Leo on the top of the head in the kitchen. He looked at Clara over the boy's hair, and something passed between them that didn't need words.

"Dante stays here," he said. "Four men on the house. I'll be back by two."

"Be careful."

"I'm meeting a cop in a coffee shop," he said dryly. "It's the safest thing I've done in ten years."

Then, at the door, he stopped.

"The room below," he said quietly. "Leo knows the song. Ask him."

The door closed behind him.

---

At twelve forty, the gate buzzer sounded.

Clara was in the living room with Leo, building a tower of blocks that kept collapsing on purpose so Leo could shout "Boom!" She heard Dante's voice in the foyer, low and irritated. Then another voice—bright, easy, familiar.

"Come on, Dante. Since when do I need an appointment?"

Clara's blood turned to ice.

She stood and went to the doorway, keeping Leo behind her.

Nico stood in the foyer, smiling. Behind him, half a step back, was a man in a leather jacket with a black crow tattooed on the side of his neck.

"Hey, Clara!" Nico spread his hands. "Heard you were back. Great news. Rico must've missed you."

"Rico isn't here," Dante said flatly.

"I know. That's why I'm here." Nico's smile widened. "Aunt Vittoria isn't feeling well. She wants to see the little guy. Rico said I could bring him over."

"Rico didn't tell me that," Dante said.

"Well, he told me." Nico's eyes moved to Clara. "Go get his coat, sweetheart."

Clara didn't move.

"No," she said.

Nico's smile flickered.

"Sorry?"

"Leo isn't going anywhere without his father."

For a moment, nobody in the foyer spoke. Behind Clara, she felt Leo's small hand grab the back of her jeans.

Then Nico laughed. "Come on. Rules of the house, I know. But this is family."

"Then you can wait for Rico," Clara said. "He'll be back at two."

Something changed in Nico's face.

It was like watching a mask slip off a hook. The charm drained out of it all at once, leaving something blank and gray and very, very tired.

"He's not meeting a business partner, is he?" Nico said softly. "He's meeting somebody else."

Clara said nothing.

"You stupid girl," Nico whispered. "You stupid, stupid girl. Do you know what you've done?"

"Nico." Dante stepped forward, one hand moving to his jacket. "I think you should go."

What happened next happened very fast.

Sal moved. Dante moved. There was a crash, and the sound of something heavy hitting the marble, and Rosa screaming in the kitchen.

Clara didn't wait to see more.

She turned, scooped Leo into her arms—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't ask—and ran for the back hallway.

---