Chapter 3 - Strong Coffee, No Apologies
Clare wore the shoes.
That was the first mistake.
At least, that was what she told herself.
She could have donated them.
Returned them.
Thrown them into the East River in a dramatic act of independence.
Instead, she put them on Friday morning.
They fit perfectly.
That irritated her even more.
By noon, her feet no longer hurt.
By three, she had stopped thinking about them every step.
By six, she was furious at Dante for being right.
Marcus noticed immediately.
“Nice shoes.”
“Shut up.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
He grinned.
“Caruso?”
Clare pointed toward the kitchen.
“Go burn something.”
“I cook for a living. Be more specific.”
The dinner rush came and went.
No Dante.
Saturday passed.
No Dante.
Sunday.
Nothing.
Monday.
Still nothing.
Clare began to realize she was looking for him.
Every time the bell above the diner door rang, her attention moved automatically.
Every black car outside made her chest tighten.
That annoyed her more than the sneakers.
By Tuesday evening, she had convinced herself Dante had gotten bored.
Powerful men probably collected interesting moments.
She had been one.
Nothing more.
Good.
Perfect.
Exactly what she wanted.
At 10:47 p.m., the bell rang.
Clare looked up.
Dante stood in the doorway.
Alone.
No Nico.
No second guard.
No intimidating formation.
Just Dante in a black overcoat damp from the rain.
His eyes found Clare immediately.
Then dropped to her shoes.
His mouth curved.
Clare looked down.
“Don't.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to observe that your taste has improved.”
“My taste is exactly the same. You bought the same shoes.”
“Then my taste is excellent.”
Clare rolled her eyes.
Dante removed his coat and took the same corner booth.
She walked over.
“Where are your bodyguards?”
“Nearby.”
“So you aren't actually alone.”
“I am never entirely alone.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“Sometimes.”
She handed him a menu.
He did not open it.
“Strong coffee.”
“We've discussed your standards.”
“And pie.”
Clare stared.
“You hated the pie.”
“Yes.”
“Then why order it?”
Dante looked at her.
“Tradition.”
Her stomach did something irritating.
She wrote the order.
“You're weird.”
“I've been called worse.”
“I'm sure.”
He glanced toward her order pad.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Last time—”
“I had no customers.”
“You have no customers now.”
Clare looked around.
He was right.
She hated that too.
“Five minutes.”
She slid into the booth.
Dante's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“You returned the money.”
“We've covered that.”
“You kept the shoes.”
“You respected the budget.”
“Progress.”
Clare leaned back.
“Why are you here?”
“Coffee.”
“Liar.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You are unusually comfortable accusing me of things.”
“You haven't killed me yet.”
His face became still.
“Do not joke about that.”
Something in his voice changed the air.
Clare straightened.
“Okay.”
Dante looked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, “There are parts of my life I do not find amusing.”
It was the closest he had come to acknowledging what everyone believed about him.
Clare studied his profile.
“You could change them.”
His gaze returned.
“You believe life is that simple?”
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because complicated isn't the same as impossible.”
Dante watched her.
No smile now.
Only that intense concentration.
“You really do not fear me.”
“I didn't say that.”
That surprised him.
Clare continued.
“You scare me.”
His jaw tightened.
“But?”
“But being afraid of someone doesn't mean you stop telling the truth.”
“Most people disagree.”
“Most people need better standards.”
Dante gave a quiet laugh.
Clare's coffee arrived from Marcus through the service window.
She got up.
When she returned with the cup, Dante asked, “Dinner.”
“What?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“You're currently eating dinner.”
“A real restaurant.”
“This is a real restaurant.”
“Murphy.”
She smiled despite herself.
“No.”
“No?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a stranger.”
“I know your age, your neighborhood, where you work, your favorite insults—”
“That is not helping.”
Dante leaned back.
“What would help?”
“Getting to know you like a normal person.”
“I am not a normal person.”
“Clearly.”
A shadow of amusement.
Clare folded her arms.
“If you want dinner, earn dinner.”
He stared.
It was possible nobody had ever said those words to him.
“How?”
“You figure it out.”
“Is this a test?”
“No.”
“It sounds like a test.”
“Maybe that's why you're failing.”
For several seconds he simply looked at her.
Then Dante laughed again.
“I have negotiated contracts worth hundreds of millions of dollars with less difficulty.”
“Maybe your contract people are too easy.”
“You have no idea.”
Clare turned to leave.
His hand closed gently around her wrist.
Not tight.
Not controlling.
Barely a touch.
Still, both froze.
Dante released her immediately.
“Sorry.”
The apology stunned her.
His eyes remained on hers.
“Clare.”
Something about hearing her first name from him felt more intimate than it should have.
“Yes?”
“What does earning dinner look like?”
She considered.
“No bodyguards at the table.”
“They would object.”
“That's their problem.”
“No expensive gifts.”
“Understood.”
“No having people investigate my life.”
His expression revealed nothing.
Clare narrowed her eyes.
“You already did.”
“Basic security.”
“Dante.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough to know you are who you say you are.”
Anger rose.
“That is not normal.”
“I told you—”
“I don't care that you're not normal.”
She stepped closer.
“My life belongs to me.”
Dante's expression hardened.
Not at her.
At himself.
“You are right.”
The immediate admission knocked some anger away.
“No more.”
“No more.”
“Promise?”
He hesitated.
Clare waited.
Then Dante said, “I promise.”
She believed he understood what promises meant.
That frightened her.
“And one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You stop ordering that pie.”
He glanced at it.
“I have eaten worse.”
“Where?”
“Prison.”
Clare's eyes widened.
Dante's mouth twitched.
“Joke.”
She hit his shoulder with her order pad.
He actually laughed.
For the first time, Clare saw something beneath the legend.
Not Dante Caruso, feared name.
Not the man who silenced restaurants.
Just Dante.
Thirty-two, maybe thirty-three.
Too serious.
Too observant.
Lonelier than anyone that powerful had a right to be.
They talked another twenty minutes.
Nothing important.
Everything important.
Music.
Clare loved old soul records because her mother played them Sunday mornings.
Dante preferred classical piano when working.
Food.
He hated ketchup.
Clare informed him this was evidence of moral failure.
Travel.
Clare had never left the United States.
Dante had seen much of Europe and remembered almost none of it because every trip involved business.
When he stood to leave, he placed fifteen dollars on the table.
Exactly fifteen.
Coffee, pie, reasonable tip.
Clare noticed.
“So you can learn.”
“I learn quickly.”
At the door, he turned.
“Dinner?”
“Still no.”
Dante nodded.
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Thursday?”
She laughed.
“Good night, Dante.”
“Good night, Murphy.”
He disappeared outside.
Clare began clearing his table.
Under the coffee cup, she discovered a paper napkin.
Written on it:
No gifts.
No investigations.
No bodyguards at the table.
Strong coffee.
No pie.
I am learning.
Beneath that:
Dinner, when I earn it.
Clare stared at the words longer than she should have.
Then the bell above the entrance rang again.
She looked up, expecting Dante.
It wasn't him.
A thin man in a gray coat stood inside.
He did not approach.
He simply looked at Clare.
Then at the napkin in her hand.
His expression changed.
Recognition.
He turned and left.
Clare watched him through the glass as he disappeared around the corner.
The strange moment lasted less than ten seconds.
She almost dismissed it.
But outside, from a parked car half a block away, Nico had seen the same man.
And unlike Clare, Nico knew exactly who he was.
Within thirty seconds, Dante's phone rang.
The brief peace surrounding Clare Murphy had just ended.
Because the wrong people had noticed that Dante Caruso cared about someone.
And in Dante's world, caring was rarely treated as a strength.
May you like
It was treated as leverage.
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