Page 161 of Merciless Daddy

“I don’t want it.”

“Fine.”

He took one fry.

I watched him.

Then I took the other straw and drank.

It was cold and sweet and thick enough to be embarrassing.

Sal said nothing.

“That is not a victory,” I told him.

“No. That’s what happened back at the arcade.”

“Yeah, for me! I thrashed your ass!

We laughed again, and started to eat. The quiet was not sharp. It did not demand filling.

I dipped a fry into ketchup.

“What did you do before you were terrifying?” I asked.

Sal considered that.

“I’ve always been fairly terrifying.”

“At twelve?”

“At twelve, I was skinny. This made people careless.”

“Ah. A tactical childhood.”

“I lived near the water. My father ran ships. I thought that was the most important thing in the world.”

“You liked shipping?”

“I loved it.” His expression changed when he spoke of it. Not softer exactly. More open. “Ports. Maps. The fact that you could put something on a ship in Sicily and know where it would be three weeks later if everyone did their work correctly.”

“That sounds like a very Salvatore thing to love.”

“I was boring even then.”

“No. You were a boy who liked knowing how things connected.”

His eyes held mine.

“My father used to take me to the docks,” he said. “He showed me manifests. Taught me that the smallest error could lose a cargo or a man. He said responsibility was not glamorous. It was simply noticing what other people failed to notice.”

“That also sounds like a very Salvatore thing to love.”

He smiled faintly.

“My mother says I was less severe then.”

“She calls you Tore.”