"Yes."
"That is the most Italian thing I have ever heard."
"It is not Italian. It is specific."
"Same thing."
"It is not the same thing."
"It is exactly the same thing."
She is fighting a smile.
She loses.
The smile is real. The smile of a woman who has just been called Italian by a man who does not yet understand the difference and is content to let him misunderstand her.
I have made her smile within ninety seconds of walking through the door.
"Sit down. I am going to make coffee."
"I have had nine cups today."
"You are going to have a tenth.”
"Yes, ma'am."
She turns to the Chemex.
I cross to the window.
Brooklyn Bridge to the right. Manhattan across the water. The FDR along the far shore.
I look at the FDR.
"Nadia."
"Yes."
"That's where I was."
She is at the counter. She does not turn around.
"I know."
"You knew where I was the whole time."
"I knew."
"You knew because you have been watching me."
"I have been watching everyone, Sean. You are one of the people I have been watching."
"How long?"
"Two years. Since the first time you came up on a flag in a Moretti compliance review. The flag was not for you. The flag was for a senior detective in OCB who was sniffing around the wrong subsidiary. I pulled the file. Your name was on the partner line. I read your file. I have been reading it ever since."
"You did not tell me."
