Chapter 4 - The Man Who Came to Queens
Three days passed.
Clara returned from the laundromat to find Vincenzo Moretti sitting on the steps outside her apartment building.
She stopped.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Enzo stood.
No guards.
No expensive overcoat.
Just jeans, black shirt, and a paper bag.
“What are you doing here?”
“Apologizing badly, apparently.”
“You already apologized.”
“I brought dinner.”
“That’s worse.”
“I didn’t know what people bring when they’ve behaved terribly.”
“Usually shame.”
“I brought that too.”
Clara tried not to smile.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Pizza.”
“From where?”
“Brooklyn.”
“You drove from Brooklyn with pizza?”
“My standards are high.”
“Your judgment isn’t.”
“Apparently.”
She walked past him.
He followed.
Clara turned.
“I didn’t invite you upstairs.”
“Right.”
He stopped.
She looked at the pizza.
Then at him.
“Ten minutes.”
“Fifteen?”
“Eight.”
“Ten.”
Inside her tiny apartment, Enzo looked completely misplaced.
He noticed the art books stacked beside the radiator.
“You studied art history.”
“Two years.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“Money.”
“Your father—”
“No.”
“Right.”
Clara opened the pizza box.
Enzo leaned against the counter.
“I fired Peter.”
“I heard.”
“Two other employees reported things after he left.”
“What things?”
“Unpaid overtime. Tip deductions.”
Clara’s expression changed.
“And?”
“They’re getting reimbursed.”
She studied him.
“You actually did it.”
“I said I would.”
“You say lots of things.”
“Fair.”
They ate quietly.
Then Enzo asked, “Why did you really leave your father?”
Clara looked toward the window.
“My mother died when I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“After that, Dad got worse. More guards. More rules. Every friend checked. Every boyfriend investigated.”
Enzo nodded slowly.
“He was scared.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
She looked at him.
“You understand that?”
“My father was similar.”
“What happened?”
“I became exactly what he trained me to become.”
There was no pride in his voice.
Clara noticed.
“And do you like who that is?”
Enzo looked at her.
“Three nights ago, I didn’t.”
Silence.
Clara closed the pizza box.
“Your ten minutes are over.”
Enzo stood.
At the door, he paused.
“Your father called me.”
Clara groaned.
“What did he want?”
“To tell me never to come near you.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Yes.”
“You’re either brave or stupid.”
“I’m beginning to suspect stupid.”
She smiled despite herself.
Enzo noticed.
“Was that a smile?”
“No.”
“It was.”
“Good night, Moretti.”
She closed the door.
Her phone rang almost immediately.
“Dad.”
“How do you know it’s me?”
“You’re the only person who calls five times without texting.”
“Was Moretti there?”
Clara stared at the door.
“Are you watching my building?”
“No.”
“Dad.”
A pause.
“Not personally.”
She hung up.
Her phone rang again.
She declined it.
Then a text appeared.
I’m trying.
Clara stared at those words.
Her father had never admitted that before.
She typed:
Try harder.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
Fair.
May you like
For the first time in four years, Clara saved his number under Dad instead of Do Not Answer.
---
