THE MAFIA BOSS LET A TERRIFIED STRANGER SIT ON HIS LAP—THEN DISCOVERED HER DEAD MOTHER WAS ALIVE

The prosecutors' meeting lasted six hours. I waited at my own apartment, a small place with yellow curtains and a kitchen that smelled like fresh paint. I'd signed the lease in my name. No one else had a key.

When Dante called, his voice sounded exhausted. He told me he'd entered a formal cooperation agreement. He would face scrutiny for his own actions, including financial offenses tied to companies he'd controlled. No one had promised him immunity.

"I don't know how this ends," he said.

"Then we'll tell the truth until we do."

He was quiet. "You said we."

"Don't make me regret it."

"I won't."

Weeks passed. The city moved on to new scandals, but our family lived in the slow aftermath of the old one. My father began physical therapy. Amelia enrolled in community college and took a photography class. My mother started counseling and asked, carefully, whether I might join her for a session someday.

"Someday," I said. It was the most honest answer I had.

I went back to work, this time at a neighborhood bookstore owned by a woman who didn't know or care who Dante Valenti was. I liked recommending mysteries to strangers. I liked being paid for my time. I liked leaving at closing without anyone checking where I'd been.

Dante sold controlling interests in two companies under independent oversight. He closed the operations that had sustained the criminal network. Some old associates called him weak. Others threatened him. He reported the threats instead of answering them in kind.

One Saturday, he came to the bookstore carrying a paper bag.

"Is that a bribe?" I asked.

"Cannoli."

"That's a very effective bribe."

He waited while I finished my shift. Then we walked to the river, eating pastry from the bag and arguing about whether the best view of Chicago was from the lake or the bridges.

"I have something to ask you," he said.

My heart jumped.

"Would you come to dinner with me? A real date. No bodyguards at the table. No emergency phone calls unless there's an actual emergency."

I laughed. "You have an alarming definition of romance."

"I'm learning."

"Yes," I said. "I'd like that."

We went to a tiny Italian restaurant where the owner called Dante by his first name and scolded him for not eating enough. He ordered pasta. I ordered the same. When the waiter asked if we were celebrating, I looked at Dante.

"A first date," I said.

Dante smiled. "A long overdue one."

After dinner, we stood outside beneath a string of warm lights. He kissed me slowly, leaving me room to pull away. I didn't.

For a moment, happiness felt simple.

Then his phone rang. Elena.

He listened, his expression tightening. "When?"

I watched his face. "What happened?"

He ended the call. "Salvatore has agreed to testify against Sloane and the senator."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"It could be."

"But?"

"He says he'll only testify if I publicly admit what I knew about the family business. Everything."