Chapter 6 - ENZO AT THE TABLE
Enzo Romano came to Sunday dinner as if nothing had changed.
That was Salvo’s idea.
I hated it.
“Why invite him?”
“To see what he does.”
“You enjoy psychological warfare.”
“Sometimes.”
“Charming.”
The dinner took place at Salvo’s townhouse.
Not The Cathedral.
Family only.
Gianni.
Two cousins.
Enzo.
Me?
I refused at first.
Salvo asked again.
Not ordered.
I agreed because Lucia was safe in Buffalo with medical support and because Enzo had spent seven years assuming I was irrelevant.
I wanted to see his face when that ended.
He arrived carrying wine.
Of course.
He kissed Salvo’s cheek.
“Figlio.”
Then saw me.
His smile paused.
“Mia Caruso.”
He knew my full name.
Interesting.
“We’ve never met.”
“No.”
He recovered.
“Salvo mentioned you.”
Lie.
Salvo had not.
I smiled.
“Did he?”
Dinner began.
Enzo spoke about shipping.
Politics.
A cousin’s divorce.
Normal family nonsense.
Then Salvo placed Caterina’s photograph on the table.
Enzo stopped.
Nobody else moved.
Salvo asked:
“Remember her?”
Enzo’s face slowly hardened.
“Your mother.”
“You told her I hated her.”
Silence.
One cousin looked confused.
Gianni looked down.
Enzo reached for his glass.
“I protected you.”
There it was.
Family slogan.
Salvo nodded.
“From what?”
“Chaos.”
“Her?”
“Old enemies.”
“They were dead.”
“Not all.”
“You controlled her shares for twenty years.”
Enzo’s eyes sharpened.
“So this is business.”
“No.”
Salvo leaned back.
“The business is simply what proves the lie.”
Enzo looked at me.
“You found Lucia’s box.”
I went cold.
Not question.
Statement.
“You knew about it.”
“I suspected.”
Salvo’s voice changed.
“Where is Lucia?”
Enzo asked.
I did not answer.
Good.
He looked at Salvo.
“Did she come back?”
Salvo smiled without warmth.
“You’re afraid.”
Enzo scoffed.
“Of a waitress’s mother?”
I felt the old humiliation return.
The Barolo.
Clumsy girl.
Furniture.
Then Salvo said:
“Careful.”
One word.
Enzo laughed.
“This?”
He gestured toward me.
“This is what you risk family stability for now?”
Salvo looked at me.
Then back at him.
“No.”
“Mia is what reminded me family stability built on frightened women isn’t stability.”
Silence.
That landed harder than any threat.
Enzo’s mask cracked.
“You sound like Caterina.”
“Good.”
Then Gianni placed a recorder on the table.
Played the old threat.
Enzo’s own voice:
You file those papers, and your daughter pays for it.
No denial possible.
Enzo sat back.
“You recorded me.”
Lucia’s voice answered from seven years earlier.
Enzo’s face emptied.
Salvo said:
“You forced her onto a plane.”
“I moved a problem.”
My stomach turned.
“Her name is Lucia.”
Enzo looked at me.
“To you.”
There.
The real man underneath.
People became functions.
Problems.
Shares.
Risks.
Salvo stood.
“No.”
Every person at the table froze.
“To us too.”
Enzo looked toward the door.
Two investigators entered.
Not Salvo’s men.
Federal financial investigators accompanied by NYPD detectives working the old coercion case.
Enzo almost laughed.
“You brought police into your father’s house.”
“My house.”
Salvo corrected.
“And yes.”
Enzo’s face twisted.
“Your father would be ashamed.”
Salvo went still.
Then:
“He hid my mother’s letters.”
“He does not get to be my moral compass.”
That was the end.
Enzo was arrested on charges tied to coercion, fraud, unlawful restraint associated with Lucia’s forced transportation, trust manipulation, and financial offenses.
No gunfight.
No execution.
No revenge cellar.
Paperwork.
Recordings.
Money trails.
Consequences.
After he left, Salvo sat at the table.
Everyone else slowly disappeared.
I stayed.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
Good answer.
I sat across from him.
He looked at Caterina’s photograph.
“My father lied.”
“Yes.”
“My uncle lied.”
“Yes.”
“Gianni kept quiet.”
“Yes.”
Gianni had already apologized and stepped back temporarily from advising Salvo.
Accountability had layers.
Then Salvo looked at me.
“And I insulted you because you spilled wine.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re putting that on the same list?”
“No.”
“But I keep thinking about it.”
“Why?”
“Because it was easy.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“To look at your uniform and decide I knew what mattered about you.”
Silence.
“That is how Enzo thought too.”
Not equivalence.
Reflection.
He continued:
“People below him became things.”
“Problems.”
“Staff.”
“Women to move.”
“I don’t want to become that.”
I looked at him.
“Then don’t.”
He almost smiled.
“Your advice is aggressive.”
“It’s free.”
“That explains the quality.”
I kicked him under the table.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Then became serious.
“Mia.”
“What?”
“I want to take you to dinner.”
I stared.
“We’re at dinner.”
“A date.”
My heartbeat changed.
“No.”
He nodded immediately.
“Okay.”
That mattered more than if I had said yes.
No wounded pride.
No threat.
No coldness.
Just:
Okay.
Three months later, after my mother moved into a rehabilitation apartment closer to New York, I asked him.
“Dinner?”
Salvo looked suspicious.
“As an employer?”
“You do not employ me.”
“As a man you insulted in two languages?”
“I insulted you in one.”
“Details.”
I smiled.
“As a date.”
His expression changed.
Then:
May you like
“Yes.”
And for the first time since I met Salvo Romano, he looked more nervous than I felt.
