“You both have me. I am not a piece of luggage.”
Despite everything, a nervous laugh escaped me.
Anthony looked at me.
The corner of his mouth moved, but the expression disappeared almost immediately.
“Thank you, Sophie.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I believe I already told you that you earned my respect.”
“That was before six armed men walked in.”
His gaze held mine.
“And after?”
I looked toward the closed doors.
“After, I’m mostly wondering why your mother was calmer than everyone else.”
Maria patted my hand.
“Experience.”
Anthony’s expression darkened.
“Mama.”
“What? The girl has eyes.”
Marco appeared beside us, looking pale and furious at the same time.
“Sophie,” he whispered sharply, “the kitchen is backed up, and table seven has been waiting—”
Anthony turned his head.
Marco stopped speaking.
“She is leaving with us,” Anthony said.
My stomach dropped.
“I am?”
Maria smiled as though the matter had been decided long ago.
“You’re coming for tea.”
“I’m still working.”
Marco immediately shook his head.
“No. Your shift is finished.”
Ten seconds earlier, he had been prepared to scold me in front of the entire restaurant. Now he could barely meet my eyes.
“I need the hours,” I said.
“You’ll be paid for the full night,” Anthony replied.
“I don’t want your money.”
“I wasn’t offering charity.”
“You just said—”
“I said you would be paid. The restaurant created an unsafe environment for its staff. Your compensation will come from Bellarosa.”
Marco’s face tightened, but he nodded.
“Of course.”
I should have refused.
Every sensible part of me said I should pick up my coat, walk to the subway, and return to the tiny apartment where overdue bills waited in a ceramic bowl beside the refrigerator.
Instead, I looked at Maria.
Her face had lost some of its color. Beneath the table, one hand trembled.
The armed men had not frightened her.
The key had.
“I’ll come,” I said.
Anthony studied me as if trying to determine whether I had understood more than I should have.
Then he picked up the brass key.
“Let’s go.”
Outside, rain misted the pavement and softened the lights along the avenue. A black sedan waited near the curb, with another vehicle behind it.
Anthony helped his mother into the back seat.
I hesitated beside the open door.
A man in a gray coat held an umbrella over me.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
“What is?” Anthony asked.
“People holding umbrellas for me.”
The man in gray looked uncertain.
Anthony took the umbrella from him.
“There. Now only one person is doing it.”
“That isn’t better.”
