Chapter 2 - The Car Leo Refused to Enter

“Don’t go.”

The words were so quiet Clara almost thought she had imagined them.

Leo’s fingers remained wrapped around hers.

Across the restaurant, Rico Moretti did not move.

Neither did Dante.

Neither did the manager.

Forty people seemed to be waiting for the same thing.

Clara looked at the little boy.

“I’m not going anywhere right now.”

Leo’s shoulders loosened.

Just a little.

Rico finally spoke.

“Everyone out.”

Marco blinked.

“Sir?”

“Close the dining room.”

“There are still customers—”

“Comp their meals. Send their food home. Nobody photographs my son.”

Chairs moved almost immediately.

People who had been terrified to breathe five minutes earlier suddenly remembered appointments, babysitters, parking meters, anything that would get them away from Rico Moretti’s private grief.

Within ten minutes, the restaurant was nearly empty.

Clara was still sitting on the marble floor.

Leo had moved closer.

Not onto her lap.

Not into her arms.

Just close enough that his shoulder touched her knee.

Rico stood several feet away.

“You did that before.”

Clara looked up.

“What?”

“The breathing.”

“My brother used to have panic attacks.”

“You’re a nurse?”

“No.”

“Teacher?”

“No.”

“Therapist?”

“No.”

Rico frowned.

“Then what are you?”

Clara looked down at her stained apron.

“Currently? A waitress who is probably fired.”

Dante made a sound that might have been a laugh.

Rico ignored him.

Leo’s eyes were beginning to close.

Clara lowered her voice.

“He’s exhausted.”

“He hasn’t slept properly in months.”

“Does he sleep alone?”

“He used to.”

That answer carried more pain than the words themselves.

Clara did not ask what changed.

She already knew.

Elena died.

Everything changed.

Leo’s head leaned against Clara’s arm.

His hand never released her finger.

Rico watched him fall asleep.

For a long time, the most feared man in the room said nothing.

Then he whispered, “He hasn’t fallen asleep near a stranger since his mother died.”

Clara looked at him.

“I’m not special.”

Rico’s expression tightened.

“My son has rejected six nannies, two child psychologists, my sister, three cousins, and a pediatric sleep specialist.”

“That doesn’t make me special.”

“What does it make you?”

“New.”

He stared at her.

Clara continued.

“I’m not asking him questions. I’m not asking him to stop crying. I’m not trying to make him perform being okay so the adults around him feel better.”

Rico’s jaw shifted.

The sentence had landed.

Hard.

Clara immediately regretted it.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

His voice was quiet.

“Don’t apologize.”

Leo stirred.

His fingers tightened.

Clara went still.

A few minutes later, Rico crouched.

“Can I pick him up?”

Clara almost answered.

Then stopped herself.

She looked at Leo instead.

“Leo?”

His eyes opened halfway.

“Your dad wants to carry you to the car. Is that okay?”

Leo looked at Rico.

For three long seconds, nothing happened.

Then he nodded.

Rico’s face changed.

He slid one arm beneath his son’s knees and the other behind his back.

Leo did not scream.

He did not hit him.

He simply reached back until Clara’s finger slipped from his hand.

His eyes opened wider.

“Clara.”

“I’m coming to the door.”

Rico looked at her.

“Come with us.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“To the house.”

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

Very few people probably told Rico Moretti no.

Clara stood.

“I helped him calm down. That doesn’t mean I should move into your house.”

“I didn’t say move in.”

“You said come with us.”

“For tonight.”

“I have a shift to finish.”

“The restaurant is closed.”

“Because you closed it.”

“I own it.”

“That does not make this less inconvenient.”

Dante looked away very quickly.

Rico stared at her.

Then, unexpectedly, a tired smile almost appeared.

Almost.

“I’ll pay you.”

“I’m not taking five thousand dollars to sit beside a sleeping child.”

“I was going to say five hundred.”

Clara hesitated.

Rico noticed.

“So there is a number.”

“There is rent.”

That was how Clara Vance ended up walking through the private exit of Il Destino beside Rico Moretti at ten fifteen on a Friday night.

A black armored SUV waited at the curb.

Leo saw it.

He did not react.

Dante opened the rear door.

Rico stepped toward it.

Then another vehicle turned from the alley.

Dark blue.

Same shape.

Same tinted windows.

Leo woke so suddenly Rico nearly dropped him.

“No!”

His scream tore through the quiet street.

“No blue! No blue!”

Rico tightened his hold.

“Leo, it’s okay.”

The child began shaking.

“Mommy said no blue car!”

Clara froze.

So did Dante.

Rico’s face lost all color.

“What did you say?”

Leo buried his face against his father’s neck.

“Mommy said run.”

Nobody moved.

The blue SUV continued down the block and disappeared around the corner.

Clara looked at Rico.

“What does that mean?”

He did not answer immediately.

When he finally did, his voice sounded nothing like the man who had terrified an entire restaurant.

“Elena was killed beside a black sedan.”

Clara stared at him.

Rico looked toward Dante.

“Then why does my three-year-old remember a blue car?”

Dante’s expression hardened.

“I don’t know.”

Rico held his son closer.

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Then he said the sentence that turned Clara’s one night of help into something much bigger.

“Find every blue vehicle that belonged to my security fleet the night my wife died.”