It’s in the folder.”
“Whatever happened — Toni, he’s my son, and you’re taking the restaurant, and it’s his whole life, and — can’t you just let it go?
Take a settlement.
Let him keep his name on the door.”
“Carmela, if a stranger had removed a safety guard, watched a machine cr*sh me, told the hospital I fell at home, and told the government I never worked a day — would you tell me to let him keep his name on the door?”
A long silence.
“That’s — that’s not the same, he’s — “
“Whose building is it, Carmela?”
She didn’t answer.
“Graziella’s,” I said.
“My mother’s.
Vincent’s been a self-made man in a room she owned since 2006.
He just never read the lease.”
Carmela looked at me for a long time.
“She used to send bread to my house,” she said finally.
“Every Christmas.
I thought it was from the restaurant.”
“It was from her.
