Page 57 of Shades of Grey & Gold

“Don’t.”

“She told you no.”

“Nico—”

“She told Calogero Renzetti, head of the Renzetti family, to take your car and shove it up your—”

“She doesn’t know how to listen.”

Nico grins. It’s the grin that has been making my life complicated since he was seven years old. “A trait shared by all beautiful, perfect women, I fear. I love her already. So, who is she?”

I look at the window again. Through the glass, Max has turned on her stool and is looking at something Maggie is showing her—a photo, maybe, or something on her phone—and her expression is open and warm and completely unguarded.

I give him the short version. College. Two years. Her relationship. My leaving. Going back to Ellison. Her being gone. Staying anyway. Going to Abbott. Coming here. All of it.

Nico is quiet for approximately four seconds, which is a record for him.

“So let me make sure I understand this correctly.” He holds up one finger. “You met this woman six or ten or whatever fucking stupid amount of years ago.” Second finger. “She was with some othercazzo1 the entire time you knew her.” Third finger. “You pined after her like a lovesick little puppy.” Fourth finger. “You left, you went back, she was gone, you stayed anyway like a completecoglione2.” Five fingers. “And now she is sitting in our mother’s kitchen drinking espresso like it’s Saturday brunch.” He drops his hand. “And you’re telling me she’s no one.”

“I’m telling you no one needs to know who she is.”

“Right.” He nods slowly. “Right, right, right. Okay. I understand completely.” He looks at the window. Looks back at me. His expression shifts into something that in another man might be called sincere and he stands tall, extending a hand out for me toshake. “I support this completely and I think you should marry her immediately. I say that with zero irony.”

“Nico—”

“I’m being serious. Today, even. I know a guy.” He waves a hand. “But first.” The humor drains from his face completely and I brace. “We have a problem.”

I exhale. “What happened.”

“The Volkovs.” He turns fully toward me now, his voice dropping as he refers to the Russian crime family that shares the city. “They’ve been moving on our northern territory for three weeks. Small things at first, easy to miss. But last Tuesday they hit one of our distribution points and took out two of our guys.” He pauses. “Nobody died. But it was close.”

“Why didn’t you call me when it happened?”

“I did call you. You didn’t want to hear it. It was just about dinner time… wonder what you were doing, or who.”

I look at him.

“You were very clearly on a date, right?” he asks like I’ll answer. “You answered the phone like a man who was interrupted during something important and couldn’t talk for more than fifteen seconds. I made a judgment call to handle the immediate situation and brief you properly when you came back. But then you didn’t show up, you said you couldn’t leave. So, I handled it…” His voice trails off.

“And?”

“And I need you back, Cal. Not in three weeks. Now. Actually, a month ago.” He glances toward the window one more time. “How much does she know?”

“Enough to get on the plane. Not enough to understand what that means yet. But she called me Tony Soprano, so she knows enough.”

Nico nods with a smile, but sobers. Something moves across his face that I don’t see often—something careful and almost gentle. “She going to be okay with it?”

Max has her elbows on the counter now, leaning forward, listening to something my mother is saying with her full attention. Her bandaged hand is wrapped around the coffee cup.

She said‘I can be your light’on a plane thirty thousand feet in the air to a man who had just implied he might be in organized crime, and she meant it. Then, she got off the plane anyway. She stayed even after acknowledging who I was.

“Yeah,” I decide, and hope with everything I’m right. “She’s going to be okay with it.”

Nico follows my gaze. He’s quiet for a moment, but I hear him swallow.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. Not like a comment, not like a normal Nico jab. Like an observation he’s making on my behalf.

“I know.”