Page 55 of Masked Don

I hold it together down the hall, into the elevator, through the marble lobby with his name set into the floor, out into the cold bright morning.

The second the car door shuts, where no one can see, I collapse, head in my hands, the adrenaline draining out all at once, my hands shaking.

Enzo notices. He notices everything. But he doesn’t make a big thing out of it. “You were brilliant in there,” he says quietly. “The Bracco date? I’d have caught it eventually. You caught it in real time, right in the middle of it, while taking notes on three other things. Do you know how rare that is?”

“I read rooms. It’s a thing I do.”

“It’s not just a thing you do. You didn’t survive that room. You ran it.”

I look out of the window so he can’t see my face and can’t see what his words are doing to me. He can’t see the big, dopey smile on my face.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been anything but a survivor. And I’m ready to find out what else I can be.

CHAPTER 19

STEVIE

Matthew goes down hard that night, the way he does after a big day.

I sit next to his bed longer than I need to. I’ve been doing that lately, watching him sleep in this enormous room in this enormous house and trying to work out how the hell I got us here.

I ease my finger out of his grip, kiss his forehead, turn off the lamp, and slip through the bathroom to my own room. I’m just starting to feel how tired I am when the knock comes.

Two soft raps. Careful, like whoever’s on the other side isn’t sure he has the right.

Enzo stands in the hall in shirtsleeves, collar open, no jacket. He’s holding a white box about the size of a shoebox, with the lid already off. There is nothing on his face at all, and I have learned in three weeks that nothing is the worst thing his face can do.

“Is he asleep?”

“Out cold.” My eyes drop to the box. “What is that?”

“It came to the gate an hour ago. A kid on a bicycle, paid in cash, no name.” He holds it out, and I take it. “It’s addressed to Matthew.”

The floor of my stomach drops away.

Inside, nested in pink tissue paper, is a child’s mask. Cheap white plastic, an elastic band, two tall rabbit ears dusted with glitter. The kind you’d buy at a party store for two dollars.

Five years ago, I wore a rabbit mask to the Velvet Room. The name on my sheet that night was Bunny.

There’s a card tucked under the mask. I know the handwriting before I read it. I used to find it on Post-its. The weekend he locked me in his apartment because I smiled at a bartender, he slid them under the bedroom door, one every few hours, while he sat on the floor outside and talked to me through the wood in that soft, reasonable voice. You know I hate it when you make me do this, baby. When he finally opened the door, he’d brought me flowers.

For the little one. Tell his mother I never forgot the rabbit. L.

My hands are shaking so hard the tissue paper rattles.

“He knows,” I whisper. “Oh, God. He knows about Matthew.”

“He knows there’s a child in my house.” Enzo takes the box back from me, gently, and sets it on the dresser like it might go off. “He knows the child is yours. And today he sat across his own table and watched you take him apart, and I think he went home and did some arithmetic.” His voice is very quiet. “He’s guessing, Stevie. Men like Luca send boxes when they’re guessing. They want to see who flinches.”

“Then I won’t flinch.”

“You already did. So did I.” He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, and for the first time since I walked through his gate, he doesn’t ask first. “I told you I wouldn’t ask again. I’m breaking that promise tonight, and I’ll answer for it. But I can’t protect a boy from a man like Luca while I’m pretending I don’t know whose he is.”

He doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t have to. The whole room is full of him.

“Is he mine?”

Five years of practicing lies in the dark. Three weeks of the man in Phoenix.