Seduced in the City

by Jo Leigh

  “I should have you arrested,” Sara said. “They’ll take your damn license. I bet it’s not even legitimate, probably black market.”

  The man and woman waiting to order moved closer to the window and stared at her, as if they were watching a reality show. Sara didn’t care about that, but she wished they’d go away so she didn’t have to watch her language. “I’m talking to you,” she said, adding, “asshole” at a lower pitch. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? There’s a whole city for you to sell to. This is how my family makes our living. Don’t you have any conscience?”

  “I’d like to know that, too,” Dom said, suddenly right by her side. His voice was raised, although not quite as loud as hers had gotten.

  “Look, I got a right to park here,” the guy said. “You do what you gotta do. I do what I gotta do. But if you don’t let the customers get to the window, I’m gonna call the cops.”

  Dom leaned in closer to Sara. “I thought you were going to do that?” He paused to study her, then whispered, “Is he parked legally?”

  “What he’s doing is wrong, and it’s no accident he’s parked right here. I’ve asked him nicely. He ignored me. But this is the third time...”

  Dom looked at the guy. “Come on, man. You can clearly see her point. There are other places to park around here. Why do you have to poach on a neighborhood restaurant?”

  “Get lost, Popeye. This ain’t your business.” He turned to the people behind Sara.

  “How about you get lost?” Sara muttered a curse. “Why do you have to be such a prick?”

  Three more people had gotten in line, and Sara was so angry she was ready to stab all of the truck’s tires, but that would only keep them in front of the restaurant longer.

  “Listen,” Dom said, keeping his voice low, and backing her up from the center of the fray. “Why don’t you go inside? Put the bags down. Maybe ask Carlo to come get this box. Let me see what I can work out with this schmuck, huh?”

  Sara was about to tell him she didn’t need to be rescued, but then she saw the second person in the truck. A woman who was staring at Dom as if she’d like to order him for lunch.

  “Fine. But if he doesn’t budge, I’m going to look up every single possible violation I can call on this guy and I’m going to make him sorry as hell.”

  “Good idea. Now go. We’ll get this straightened out.”

  With one last vicious glare at the guy and his Dom-struck sidekick, Sara walked inside the restaurant, desperately wanting to drag the growing line of customers behind her. Instead of going to the kitchen, though, she stood at the window. Watching.

  A moment later, Jeannette was at her side. “Look at the coglioni on that guy. He keeps this up, it’s gonna put a big dent in the week’s revenue.”

  “My parents are on their first vacation in forever, and he decides to stake a claim outside our door.”

  Jeannette took one of the bags, then turned around to the counter and shouted for Carlo. One of the other waitresses, Natalie, was taking phone orders.

  “What’s Dom doing?” Jeannette asked.

  “Trying to work something out. Notice the woman who can’t take her eyes from him.”

  “That could work,” Jeannette said.

  “Maybe.”

  Carlo rushed past them, out the door, took the box from Dom as if they’d planned the maneuver, then hurried back inside.

  Dom didn’t even lose a step. For a minute it looked as if the food truck owner was going to do something drastic. In fact, he flicked something at Dom, who stepped aside, shook his head, then kept on talking, looking calm as could be, as if nothing had happened.

  Not two minutes later, the owner, the woman, Dom and several customers were all laughing.

  Sara exchanged a look with Jeannette, who just shrugged. Then they looked back at the silent show. A few more words, a nod, followed by a handshake.

  A goddamn handshake?

  Several people at the end of the line peeled away to follow Dom, who held the door open for them. They all seemed pleased to be following their new guru, and surprisingly, she didn’t recognize a single person.

  Jeannette hustled to get behind the counter, where they really needed Sara, but she couldn’t leave yet.

  “Okay. We’ve settled things, and Rocky won’t be coming back to this spot again.”

  “Rocky?”

  “I gave him a tip on a better location,” Dom said, shrugging.

  The relief was instantaneous but riding on its back was a slice of resentment that Mr. Big Shot was able to swoop in and save the day. He just fixed everything with his smile and that ridiculous charisma. Must be swell to be Dominic Paladino.

  “Wait,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Well, no, how could he?

  She closed her eyes, ashamed that she’d let anything other than gratitude show. That she’d lost her temper in front of him. In front of anyone. And that in the end, the biggest shame of her life—the article she’d written—was but a fleeting memory for him. Even though it had haunted her for years.

  “No,” she said, pulling it together. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m very grateful this mess won’t have to trouble my parents when they get back. Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a problem,” he said, but the tone in his voice had changed. So had the way he was looking at her.

  She didn’t blame him. Especially when she noticed that his shirt had a big splotch of tomato sauce on the sleeve. The shirt he was supposed to wear to his interview.

  “Next five pizzas are on the house,” she said, trying to ease the strain.

  “I didn’t do it for the pizzas,” he said, turning to leave.

  She caught his arm. That big, muscular arm that tensed even more beneath her hand. “I mean it,” she said. “What you did was really kind.”

  “No sweat,” he said, although the easy camaraderie they’d had on their walk had vanished as if it had never existed.

  5

  FOR THE FIRST time Dom could remember, he’d shown up early for a family dinner. He stood at the living room window of the home he’d grown up in, the same house where his dad had been raised, and where Dom’s granddad and great-granddad had been born. The place was a lot bigger now. A room for Nonna, a den with an elaborate sound system, a small backyard where his mom could grow her tomatoes. The patio off the dining room where his father was King of the Grill. And of course their remodeled chef’s kitchen—the beating heart of the Paladino family.

  Tonight wouldn’t be a typical meal. They were going to have an important meeting, which wasn’t something that happened often. The last time they’d met in an official capacity had been to discuss Tony taking over the business after their dad’s second heart attack. The agenda this evening was to discuss the Paladino Trust. Find a way to make it more relevant to the massive changes Little Italy had undergone since the trust’s inception several generations ago.

  It had been an inspired idea, one that had been woven into their lives. In a nutshell, the trust was the original rent control, established years before the government had settled on a similar system. But the goal, which had been to help keep the once tight-knit immigrant community close, affordable, safe and thriving, had eroded year by year as the world had evolved. Now, Little Italy was more of an idea than a place: a few blocks, a few stores, a few dozen families who’d descended from the first immigrants was all that remained.

  He couldn’t see Moretti’s three blocks down but that didn’t stop his thoughts from going to Sara. Man, had she changed, and not just physically. She’d proven she had a fire inside her back in school when she’d taken the whole faculty to task. Everyone had been stunned by her fierce eloquence, but no one had looked more shocked than Sara herself.

  After that day she’d faded into
the background again. Although that might have been a reflection of his busy senior year. She’d sure gotten his attention two months later when she’d implied he was the most egregious example of why high school athletics was a complete waste of time and money. That op-ed piece, filled with inflammatory rhetoric, had pissed off a lot more people than him.

  Three weeks after that he’d graduated and hadn’t thought about her at all. Before going off to college he’d eaten at Moretti’s a few times. But Sara had been nowhere in sight.

  He pictured her at the order window of the Spicy Meatball, struggling to keep her temper to a controlled roar. Knowing what she could have done without the need for discretion, he respected her effort.

  What he didn’t understand was her reaction to his assistance. He hadn’t been trying to dis her in any way; surely she must have known that. He’d just wanted to ease the situation, turn the argument into a win. There was no reason for her to have been so prickly about it.

  Right in the middle of his interview, he’d thought about the resentful way she’d looked at him when he told her about the solution. He’d snapped out of it quickly, but damn. He couldn’t afford to have that kind of distraction.

  He’d left Edelman with the promise of a follow-up interview, but he didn’t have enough of a feel for the big PR firm to know if he’d move forward.

  Regardless, he couldn’t spend time wondering about Sara. All this attitude was most likely connected to the mysterious thing that had happened when they were kids. After racking his brain he couldn’t come up with anything. Other than she might’ve made it up because he’d called her on the article.

  Dom saw a cab stop in front and Tony got out. His brother was probably looking forward to tonight. For once, they weren’t going to discuss wedding preparations, the guest list, anything to do with nuptials. Compared to that, a multimillion dollar trust was a walk in the park.

  It would be like old times. Just the immediate family, no Catherine, no April. Even Nonna was having dinner next door with her friend. Which was good, because it would be a lot easier to talk without having to explain the convoluted evolution of the trust. Hell, it would’ve taken all night. And the women all understood they weren’t being slighted.

  “What the hell?” Luca said, poking his head into the living room. “Dom’s here on time? Call the Times.”

  “On time?” his mom called out from the kitchen. “He was here early.”

  Tony stopped in the foyer. “What happened? You sick? In trouble? Did you get a girl in trouble?”

  Dom wanted to line up his brothers and slap them both silly. “Shut up,” he said, and went to the kitchen. “Ma, I’m gonna pour some Chianti. You want some?”

  She patted his cheek and smiled at him as if he was still ten, even though she had to look up to meet his eyes. “Get me and your father some iced tea. And you boys don’t drink too much until after we talk.” She looked at Tony, then Luca, then at the doorway that led to the dining room.

  Luca moved first. “I’ve got the silver.”

  Tony didn’t say a word, just went to get plates and salad bowls. Dom headed for the wet bar and poured some wine for the three of them.

  “Ten bucks says chicken parmesan,” Luca said, doling out settings.

  “You’re on.” Dom nodded, keeping his expression neutral. Luca didn’t need to know he’d already asked. “I bet you it’s chicken, but she’s doing something else with it. Something light for Pop.”

  “I can smell the sauce.”

  Dom grinned. “Double or nothing?”

  Luca frowned as he picked up the copy of the trust by his place setting. “You did this?”

  “Yeah, so?” Knowing his parents, it was inevitable they’d find something to argue about, so Dom had made copies so everyone would have their own set in their hot little hands.

  Luca looked at Tony. “Our little brother’s growing up.”

  Dom smacked him on his way back to the kitchen to get the iced tea.

  Dinner was on the table ten minutes later, and Luca slipped the ten spot over along with a serving of salad.

  “So why don’t we all read the first two pages while we have the antipasto?” Dom suggested. “Then we can talk.”

  His father, Joe, who’d finally taken his seat, looked at Dom. “You got a date after?”

  He just smiled, though it had occurred to Dom that if the meeting ended around nine he might bump into Sara on her way home. She’d be walking in this direction so it wouldn’t seem weird. But for all he knew, she wasn’t even working.

  Although, why would he bother when he was still pissed at her?

  Dom read the pages of the antiquated agreement, as if he didn’t already know most of it by heart. The last time it had been amended was back in the 1950s, and that was something their attorney—Great-uncle Peter—had suggested to protect the family in case of a lawsuit.

  The room was quiet as they all read, except for the occasional sound of crunched vegetables. The language took some concentration, having originated in the early twentieth century, but the basics were straightforward.

  “Okay.” Theresa put down her paper. “Let’s finish eating first,” she said. “Talk after. Give us time to digest. The last thing your father needs is agita.”

  “I’m fine, Theresa. Enough. If the boys want to talk about the trust, let them.”

  “I don’t know how everything has gotten so complicated,” she said. “Attorneys and accountants, and the way you boys have had to keep things so private.” Her gaze went to Tony and Luca. “It almost cost you Catherine and April. I don’t want that happening to Dominic, or your future children.”

  “That’s why we’re meeting, Ma,” Luca said. “We all agree. Look at this stuff.” He waved the document so close to his wineglass he nearly knocked it over. “This was written for a different world. I’m not saying we should change the current rents, but I think it’s time we stop buying properties.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Tony said. “We don’t have to kick anyone out. Just stop adding to the problem.”

  “So, we’d stop altogether?” Dom asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Tony said. “We could set parameters. For instance, if half the co-ops in a building are already owned by outsiders, we walk away.”

  “I’m not saying we shouldn’t stop.” Dom picked up his wine. “Not at all.”

  They all got quiet for a while, chewing on more than the food.

  “You were right, Dominic,” Joe said, looking at him and nodding slowly, as he always did when trying to access his memory. “What was it, two years ago? When you told me we were missing the bigger picture.”

  Everyone stared at Dom.

  “Tell them,” Joe said, gesturing expansively. “Tell them how you think we could do better with the money. I should have listened then.”

  Dom set his wineglass down. “First of all, I doubt anyone could have foreseen how much the trust would grow. We have a lot of money sitting around.” Tony opened his mouth, and Dom said, “Yes, I know it’s all invested. And making even more money than we’d ever spend in five lifetimes. Let me rephrase—there are plenty of uses for the funds all around us. The community isn’t what it used to be but we can improve what’s left of it.”

  “Don’t be too generous,” Theresa said. “Most of it belongs to you boys. I know you won’t spend it, but make sure you leave enough for my grandchildren.”

  Dom and Luca both smiled.

  Tony laughed. “Not a problem, Ma. So don’t you worry.”

  “I was at Collect Pond Park this morning,” Joe said, “and I’ll tell you right now, it’s not what it could be, even though they finally figured out how to get the pond back. On such a beautiful spring day, it should have been filled with people, but it’s mostly concrete, and it needs more green. More trees. More
places to sit, tables to play chess, more children and dogs. It’s ugly, surrounded by government buildings. Nobody wants to go there.”

  Tony put down his fork. “We can change the terms of the trust however we want,” he said, and glanced at Dom. “I think you and Pop are on to something. We should honor the community that used to be here. When Little Italy meant something. Fix the park. Show people what it used to mean.”

  “It was called Five Points at one time,” Theresa said. “Used to be the worst slum in America.”

  “And then it got better.” Joe took another bite of chicken and turned to Theresa. “This isn’t too bad, even though it could use some marinara and mozzarella.”

  “Don’t forget the parmesan, and it should also be fried.”

  Theresa gave Luca a look that shut him right up. “Excuse me for wanting my husband here more than I want parmesan.”

  “That’s love, my boys,” Joe said. “Remember that.”

  “Anyway,” Theresa said, her brow creasing. “What I want to know is what we’re going to tell people. It could be a real mess if they find out what the Paladinos have—”

  “Who says we have to say anything?” Dom thought for a minute as he poured himself a little more wine. “We let the attorney continue to take care of the properties and the rents through the management company, and just funnel funds into something new. Something we don’t have to hide if we don’t want to.”

  Tony nodded. “Like a public works fund.”

  “Tell them the rest, Dom,” Joe said. “About the matching funds. It’s a good idea.”

  Dom was more than a little surprised his dad had remembered. He hadn’t been all that interested when Dom had first broached the subject. “It’s not a big deal. But if we’re looking to improve public property, we have to get government approval so we should find out if they’d be willing to match whatever we put in.”

  “Huh.” Luca grinned. “Here I thought you were just another pretty face.”

  Dom slyly flipped him off with a move he’d perfected at sixteen. Luca laughed. He’d only been joking, but somehow it didn’t sit well with Dom. Why was he being so damn touchy?