she stepped into the dining room and approached him. "Sorry, I had a crap day."
His eyes surveyed her. "You look it."
She glanced down—dirty bare feet, wrinkled clothes, sweat-coated skin—and snickered. "Yeah, I'm kind of a mess."
"Yet you're laughing," he pointed out.
"It's been one of those days where that's really all you can do… laugh ."
His expression shifted, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he continued to survey her. "Who is he?"
"Who?"
"The boy you were with," he said. "Who is he?"
Genna gaped at him. "How did you…?"
"I know that look, Genna. There's only one thing that makes a girl look that way."
"He's, uh…" It unnerved her when her father did that, reading her with just a look. "He's just a boy I met this morning."
"Does he have a name?"
"Matty."
"Matty," he echoed. "How very... American."
She laughed again. "Actually, for your information, he's Italian -American."
Primo looked pleasantly surprised. "How'd you meet?"
"We shared an elevator," she replied, stepping toward him to lightly kiss his cheek. "Now, if you're done interrogating me, I'd like to take a shower and get some sleep. I'm exhausted."
He waved his hand, wordlessly dismissing her.
"Oh, by the way," she said as she walked away. "You're going to have to have someone pick up my car tomorrow."
"Where is it?"
"At the courthouse. The judge suspended my license."
"And you didn't drive your car home?"
"No." She looked at him incredulously. Didn't he hear? "I couldn't."
He eyed her peculiarly. "Curious."
"What?"
"Well, you've never really let that stop you before. You were driving cars years before you even had a license. This new boy of yours must be special."
"Yeah," she admitted, before adding in a whisper, "he just might be."
She hit the doorway when he spoke again, his voice so quiet she could barely hear. "You look like her. When you smile, you look so much like her."
Genna glanced back at her father, watching as he picked up his glass, his eyes focused on the blood red wine. He wasn't watching her, his words meant more for himself than anyone, but she gave her father a small smile anyway. "Goodnight, Daddy."
Matty stood along the curb and watched the taillights of the cab disappear into the darkness before he turned around to head into The Place. As soon as he opened the door and stepped into the busy bar, dozens of sets of eyes zeroed in on him like the scope on an assault rifle, eagerly waiting for his acknowledgment. They hadn't dared approach him earlier when he had company.
They knew better.
Sighing, he strode over to the bar, squeezing in along the side and tapping his hand against the hard, glossy wood. The bartender glanced over at him with a subtle nod, setting straight to work making him a drink. "Your friend leave?"
"Yeah, she needed to get home."
"Ah," he said. "She a close friend?"
Matty cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that any of your business?"
"No, of course not," he said, sliding the Roman Coke down the bar to him before shifting the subject. "So, you working tonight?"
"Yeah, I'll be at my table," he replied, taking a step back. "One at a time, or I'll shut them all down."
The bartender saluted him. "You're the boss."
No , Matty thought. My father is .
Matty strode to the back of the bar, finding his younger brother, Enzo, already sitting in their usual booth, his arm around a young blonde girl clad in a tight red dress and deathly high heels, her hair teased and frozen solid, like she'd used an entire can of hairspray to hold it in place. Matty paused in front of them, glancing at the seat Genna had sat in just a few hours earlier, currently occupied by another girl. A friend of Enzo's friend, he supposed. He cast her a look, taken aback by the amount of make-up caking her young face—bright red lips, blue eye shadow, pink blush.
His brother seemed to appreciate women from all walks of life, but he had a particular type he always went back to, the one's Matty referred to as eighties
His eyes surveyed her. "You look it."
She glanced down—dirty bare feet, wrinkled clothes, sweat-coated skin—and snickered. "Yeah, I'm kind of a mess."
"Yet you're laughing," he pointed out.
"It's been one of those days where that's really all you can do… laugh ."
His expression shifted, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he continued to survey her. "Who is he?"
"Who?"
"The boy you were with," he said. "Who is he?"
Genna gaped at him. "How did you…?"
"I know that look, Genna. There's only one thing that makes a girl look that way."
"He's, uh…" It unnerved her when her father did that, reading her with just a look. "He's just a boy I met this morning."
"Does he have a name?"
"Matty."
"Matty," he echoed. "How very... American."
She laughed again. "Actually, for your information, he's Italian -American."
Primo looked pleasantly surprised. "How'd you meet?"
"We shared an elevator," she replied, stepping toward him to lightly kiss his cheek. "Now, if you're done interrogating me, I'd like to take a shower and get some sleep. I'm exhausted."
He waved his hand, wordlessly dismissing her.
"Oh, by the way," she said as she walked away. "You're going to have to have someone pick up my car tomorrow."
"Where is it?"
"At the courthouse. The judge suspended my license."
"And you didn't drive your car home?"
"No." She looked at him incredulously. Didn't he hear? "I couldn't."
He eyed her peculiarly. "Curious."
"What?"
"Well, you've never really let that stop you before. You were driving cars years before you even had a license. This new boy of yours must be special."
"Yeah," she admitted, before adding in a whisper, "he just might be."
She hit the doorway when he spoke again, his voice so quiet she could barely hear. "You look like her. When you smile, you look so much like her."
Genna glanced back at her father, watching as he picked up his glass, his eyes focused on the blood red wine. He wasn't watching her, his words meant more for himself than anyone, but she gave her father a small smile anyway. "Goodnight, Daddy."
Matty stood along the curb and watched the taillights of the cab disappear into the darkness before he turned around to head into The Place. As soon as he opened the door and stepped into the busy bar, dozens of sets of eyes zeroed in on him like the scope on an assault rifle, eagerly waiting for his acknowledgment. They hadn't dared approach him earlier when he had company.
They knew better.
Sighing, he strode over to the bar, squeezing in along the side and tapping his hand against the hard, glossy wood. The bartender glanced over at him with a subtle nod, setting straight to work making him a drink. "Your friend leave?"
"Yeah, she needed to get home."
"Ah," he said. "She a close friend?"
Matty cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that any of your business?"
"No, of course not," he said, sliding the Roman Coke down the bar to him before shifting the subject. "So, you working tonight?"
"Yeah, I'll be at my table," he replied, taking a step back. "One at a time, or I'll shut them all down."
The bartender saluted him. "You're the boss."
No , Matty thought. My father is .
Matty strode to the back of the bar, finding his younger brother, Enzo, already sitting in their usual booth, his arm around a young blonde girl clad in a tight red dress and deathly high heels, her hair teased and frozen solid, like she'd used an entire can of hairspray to hold it in place. Matty paused in front of them, glancing at the seat Genna had sat in just a few hours earlier, currently occupied by another girl. A friend of Enzo's friend, he supposed. He cast her a look, taken aback by the amount of make-up caking her young face—bright red lips, blue eye shadow, pink blush.
His brother seemed to appreciate women from all walks of life, but he had a particular type he always went back to, the one's Matty referred to as eighties
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