“She will,” I said.
“I have range,” she added.
Sal looked between us.
Behind him, the driver kept both hands on the wheel and his eyes forward. Smart man. He’d probably seen enough Torretti business to know when not to move.
“You’d burn your place for her,” Sal said.
I looked at Nella then.
She stood in her alley with blue curaçao on her shirt, receipts under one arm, flat sandals on cracked concrete, and five days of work in her hands. Her chin stayed up. Her fingers kept the receipts pinned against her ribs. Fury and exhaustion marked her face, and she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“No,” I said. “I’d stop burning myself for you.”
Sal went very still.
Nella’s breath caught once.
I faced my uncle again. “The debt gets settled on principal. The penalties and seizure language are dead. I won’t sign them. I won’t certify them. I won’t touch her bar.”
Sal gave me a smile with no warmth. “Her bar now?”
Nella moved so fast I almost missed it.
She stepped in front of my shoulder, receipts lifted like a weapon. “Absolutely. My bar. His choice. Try to keep up.”
For one long second, silence held.
Then Sal laughed.
It was quiet, humorless, and mean enough to make the alley lights feel colder.
“Miami has made you soft,” he said to me.
“No,” I said. “It made me hungry for something else.”
Nella glanced at me before she turned it back into fight.
Sal buttoned his jacket, even though the heat had soaked the alley and his shirt still looked untouched. “You’re done.”
“Yes,” I said.
“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe.”
Nella snorted. “That was not a strong closing argument.”
My uncle ignored her. “The office will take the principal transfer. I’ll have the file marked satisfied for the base debt.”
Nella’s shoulders eased by one careful inch.
“But you,” Sal said to me, “don’t call.”
“I won’t.”
His gaze flicked once toward Nella. “And you should be more careful about the men you let stand beside you.”
