Nella’s smile was all teeth. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”
This time, I did smile.
Sal saw it.
That might have been the part that finally made him leave.
He opened the back door of the town car and paused with one hand on the frame. “Stay hungry, Nico.”
The words used to fit like a command.
Now they sounded like a bad habit.
“I am,” I said.
Then I looked at Nella.
Sal got into the car. The door closed. The engine shifted, the brake lights washed the alley red, and the town car rolled backward before turning toward the street.
Nella and I stood there until the sound faded under boardwalk music and the far-off rush of the ocean.
The alley didn’t get prettier.
Dumpsters still smelled like fryer oil. Heat still clung to the concrete. A receipt corner had bent under Nella’s thumb. My shirt stuck to my back, and my watch felt too heavy on my wrist.
The bar was safe.
For one second, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
Nella solved that by hitting me in the chest with the receipt folder.
“Ow.”
“That was for trying to close the door on me.”
“You hit like a woman with documented profits.”
“I have more where that came from.”
“I believe you.”
She studied my face, and her expression lost its sharp line.
“You’re done with them?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t collect for Sal. It means I don’t go back to Jersey and expect my uncle’s doors to open. It means some men who used to step aside for me won’t.”
Nella hugged the receipt folder tighter. “Are you in danger?”
“No. Not the way you mean.”
“Don’t manage me.”
“I’m not. Sal cuts men off before he wastes more time on them. The cost is doors closing, calls not getting answered, and men who used to know my name deciding they don’t.”
