Her pragmatism is unexpected and oddly refreshing. Most people either fear me immediately or try to ingratiate themselves when they learn of my connection to the Venezianos. Sarah does neither.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it. Dante's name on the screen. Unusual for him to call directly in the middle of the day unless it's urgent.
"I need to take this," I tell Sarah, standing and moving toward the door for privacy.
She nods, understanding. "I'll be here. Not going anywhere on this ankle."
I step into the hallway, closing her door behind me before answering. "Yes, boss."
"Where are you?" Dante's voice carries the mixture of authority and casual confidence that makes him such an effective leader. "I’ve been hearing that you were at a diner this morning throwing your weight around for some waitress, and now Rico tells me you had him running background checks on her."
I should have known Rico would report the search to Dante. Nothing happens in our organization without Dante knowing about it eventually.
"I'm handling a personal matter," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
"A personal matter," Dante repeats, sounding both amused and intrigued. "Would this personal matter happen to be about five-foot-four with brown eyes and a kid?"
I don't answer, which Dante correctly interprets as confirmation.
"Franco," he continues, his tone shifting to something I rarely hear from him—genuine curiosity rather than calculated interest. "In all these years, I've never known you to take a personal day, let alone use organization resources to look into some random woman. What's going on?"
I consider my response. Dante isn't just my boss; he's the closest thing I have to a friend, though our relationship has always been defined by professional boundaries. Still, he's one of the few people whose judgment I respect.
"I helped her and her son last night," I explain. "Some punks were trying to rob them. She has a twisted ankle. I'm making sure she rests it."
There's a pause on the other end of the line. "You're playing nurse to a waitress you met two days ago?"
Put that way, it does sound ridiculous. I don't respond.
Dante laughs softly. "This is... unexpected. But you know what? I'm glad."
His response catches me off guard. "You're glad?"
"Franco, you've been by my side through everything. You've watched me build this empire, seen me at my worst, helped me clean up more messes than I can count. And through it all, you've never once taken anything for yourself. No relationship, no connections outside the organization, nothing but the job."
I'm not sure how to respond to this assessment. It's accurate but hearing it laid out so bluntly is discomfiting.
"Look," Dante continues, his voice uncharacteristically earnest, "I found Elena when I least expected it. The sister of our biggest rival, of all people. Everyone thought it was insanity, that love would be a weakness. But they were wrong. Having her in my life has made me stronger, more focused, more... human."
"This isn't—" I start to protest, but Dante cuts me off.
"I'm not saying you're in love with this waitress. I'm saying that if there's someone who's making you act unlike yourself… Someone who makes you late to meetings and has you buying groceries, then I support it. Whatever it is. You deserve something outside of all this." He pauses. "You deserve what I found with Elena. And if this woman and her kid are the start of that for you, then I'm behind you one hundred percent."
I stand in the dingy hallway outside Sarah's apartment, momentarily speechless. In all our years together, Dante and I have never discussed my personal life, mainly because I don't have one. The fact that he's not only noticed but seems to genuinely care catches me completely off guard.
"It's just helping someone who needs it," I finally say, unwilling or unable to examine the implications of his words more closely.
"If you say so," Dante replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Take the rest of the day. Whatever you need. Just keep your phone on in case of emergencies."
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate for what he's offering. Not just time off, but understanding, even encouragement.
"Oh, and Franco? If you ever want to bring her around, Elena would love to meet her. No pressure, just... the offer's there."
Before I can respond to this even more unexpected suggestion, he hangs up. I stand there for a moment, processing the conversation. Dante doesn't just know about Sarah; he approves. More than approves, he seems genuinely happy about whatever this strange situation is. The thought is both comforting and disconcerting.
I return to Sarah's apartment, finding her still on the couch with the ice pack on her ankle. She looks up as I enter, her expression questioning.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
