Page 134 of Shadow Of Sin

Sal just looks at me, letting it all sink in. “Remember what Mom used to say about Dad?”

I look at him, my eyes stinging. We almost never talk about our parents. It’s a door we keep closed because opening it hurts too much.

“She used to say that Dad showed love by doing, not saying,” Sal continues. “He wasn’t the kind of guy to say ‘I love you’ all the time. But he’d fix the sink at two in the morning and shovel the driveway before she woke up and spend three hours driving across the city to find the exact brand of coffee she liked.” He puts a hand over mine. “She said the words would’ve been nice, but the doing was what she trusted most. The actions always spoke louder than the words ever could.”

“Sal—” I croak, shaking my head. “It’s not that easy. In fact, it’s really freaking complicated⁠—”

“You know what your problem is? Ever since we lost Mom and Dad, you decided you’re the one who has to hold everything together. Me, the restaurant, your whole life. And you won’t let anyone help because every time you trusted someone to carry their share, they dropped it. So you just stopped trusting.”

“Yeah, and what’s your point? Everything blew up and I got sent to prison. And then it blew up again with Wolfe.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Things blew up with Daniel because Daniel was a piece of shit. Not because you trusted the wrong instinct. You trusted the wrong person. But you didn’t trust the wrong guy this time.” He folds his arms on the bar. “I watched you with Wolfe. At this bar. In this restaurant. The way you looked at him, E? That wasn’t you trusting the wrong instinct. That was you finally trusting the right one.”

“You don’t know what I found on his laptop.”

“No. You still won’t tell me and that’s fine. But I know what I’ve seen over the past two weeks.” He gestures around the restaurant. “This neighborhood is different. People aren’t scared anymore. My customers are coming in smiling instead of checking over their shoulders. Someone is cleaning up the mess that Dmitri made, and they’re doing it without taking any credit.”

“That still doesn’t erase what he did,” I grumble.

“Maybe not. But it might tell you something about why he did it.” He gives me a long look. “You spent three months lying to me to protect me. I hated finding that out. It made me feel stupid and small, and like you didn’t trust me enough to let me help. But I also know you did it because you love me and wanted to keep me out of harm’s way. So if I can sit here and accept that from you, maybe you can accept that the guy who bled on my floor might have had reasons you don’t know about yet.”

“When did you get so wise?” I say, tracing my finger along the cracked wood grain on the bar.

Sal chuckles. “I’ve always been wise. You were just too busy being the tough one to notice.”

I wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his neck, the familiar scent of his cologne filling me with comfort. He hugs me back. Tight, like he wants me to remember he’s never going to leave me. That he’ll always be here for me.

I stand behind the bar the rest of the afternoon, my mind working through everything: the cleared debts, the reopened case, the rescheduled meeting text, the bullet. And then I remember it’s been two weeks of radio silence from a man who could track my every move through the car parked outside this building but hasn’t once shown up or called or texted.

He’s letting me choose. That’s what this is. He’s not chasing me. He’s not begging. He’s doing everything he can to right the wrongs he can control, leaving the door open, and waiting to see if I walk through it. Almost like when he left that timestamp in my files.

I hate that it’s working.

Around four o’clock, Sal catches me staring at my phone again.

“Just go, Eva.”

“Go where?”

Sal throws his hands into the air. “Wherever he is. Go yell at him. Make him explain. Do whatever you need to do but stop moping around my restaurant looking like your dog died because you’re upsetting the customers.”

“Nobody is upset.”

“Table six asked me if you were okay. Twice.”

I look at table six. It’s an elderly couple eating tiramisu. The woman gives me a little wave and a sympathetic smile. I force a smile in response.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I say.

“You’ve been ready for a week. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.” He takes the dish towel off his shoulder and snaps it at me. “Go. I’ll close up tonight.”

“Sal—”

“Eva Marie Moreno. Get out of my restaurant. Now.”

My full name. He only uses my full name when he’s completely done with my shit. I guess two weeks is my limit.

I grab my jacket off the hook near the kitchen. “I don’t know where he is.” Which is a total lie.