The order came from the man beside me.

Like I was going to listen.

“My daughter is here.”

I grabbed Chloe and pulled her behind me as the three men rushed toward the kitchen.

One of them pushed through the swinging doors.

Then stopped.

I looked past him.

James Moretti stood beside an overturned metal tray.

Across from him was a terrified young dishwasher holding a trash bag.

“Mr. Moretti?”

Moretti stared at him.

“Danny?”

The teenager nodded.

“I thought everybody left.”

“So did I.”

The armed men relaxed.

I didn't.

Moretti looked down at the tray.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Danny glanced at the men surrounding him.

“With respect, sir, I think I'm more scared.”

One of the men laughed.

The tension broke.

Then Moretti looked at me.

“You were told to stay outside.”

“I don't take orders from strangers.”

The kitchen went silent again.

I immediately regretted saying it.

One of Moretti's men raised his eyebrows.

But Moretti almost smiled.

“Fair enough.”

He turned toward the refrigerator.

“What does Chloe like?”

“She doesn't need anything complicated.”

“I asked what she likes.”

From behind me came a tiny voice.

“Macaroni.”

Moretti looked over.

“Macaroni?”

“With lots of cheese.”

“Finally. Someone in this building gives me a straight answer.”

Chloe giggled.

I hadn't heard that sound all day.

Moretti pointed toward Danny.

“Get me butter, milk, cheddar, Parmesan.”

Danny moved instantly.

I stepped closer.

“You actually know how to cook?”

Moretti glanced at me.

“Grace, my mother would come back from the dead just to hit me with a wooden spoon if I couldn't cook pasta.”

For the next twenty minutes, I watched the most intimidating man I had ever met make macaroni and cheese for my daughter.

Not from a box.

He made a Nextce from scratch.

Chloe sat on a prep counter wrapped in his coat.

“Why do you have pictures on your arms?” she asked.

“Tattoos.”

“Did they hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Then why'd you get them?”

Moretti paused.

“That is an excellent question.”

One of his men snorted.

Moretti looked at him.

“Something funny, Anthony?”

“No, boss.”

“Good.”

Chloe pointed toward another tattoo.

“What's that one?”

Moretti looked at his forearm.

“A date.”

“Your birthday?”

“No.”

His expression changed.

“My daughter's.”

I looked at him.

“You have a daughter?”

He didn't answer immediately.

“Had.”

Chloe became quiet.

Even at six, she understood that word.

“Oh.”

Moretti stirred the Nextce.

“She would have been seventeen this year.”

“Where is she?”

I closed my eyes.

“Chloe—”

“It’s okay.”

Moretti put down the spoon.

“She died when she was little.”

Chloe looked at him for several seconds.

Then she climbed down from the counter.

She walked over and held out her stuffed lion.

“You can hold Leo.”

Nobody moved.

Moretti stared at the toy.

Chloe pushed it toward him.

“He helps when you're sad.”

Moretti took it.

His men suddenly became very interested in the floor.

“Thank you,” he said.

Chloe nodded.

“You have to give him back.”

That finally made Moretti laugh.

Dinner was ready ten minutes later.

He put a bowl in front of Chloe.

She took one bite.

Her eyes widened.

“This is better than Mommy's.”

“Traitor,” I said.

Moretti smiled.

Then he placed another bowl in front of me.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Grace.”

“I said I'm fine.”

He looked directly at me.

“When did you last eat?”

I hated him for turning my own answer against me.

“Yesterday.”

His smile disappeared.

“Sit down.”

“I don't need charity.”

“This isn't charity.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated.

“A Christmas dinner.”

I sat.

And ate.

Nobody said much until Chloe finished her second bowl.

Then Moretti's phone rang.

He looked at the screen.

Whatever warmth had entered his face disappeared.

He answered.

“Talk.”

A pause.

Then:

“When?”

His men immediately became alert.

Moretti's eyes moved toward me and Chloe.

“No. Nobody touches the restaurant.”

Another pause.

His voice became dangerously calm.

“You tell Russo that if he has a problem with me, he comes to me.”

He ended the call.

Anthony stepped closer.

“What happened?”

“Russo's people are outside.”

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.

“How many?”

“Enough.”

Moretti looked toward the front windows.

Then at Chloe.

“Grace.”

“Yes?”

“You and your daughter aren't going home yet.”