“You’ve seen it.”
“I’m asking him.”
Marco’s face changed.
So did Connor’s.
Leo stepped away from the head table.
It might have been the first time that evening he had crossed the room for his son instead of expecting Connor to come to him.
He stopped several feet away.
Maya noticed he didn’t move closer.
Perhaps he had finally seen the way Connor reacted when people crowded him.
“Connor,” Leo said, more quietly.
“Is that what happens?”
Connor stared at the floor.
Answering did not come quickly.
Nobody rescued Leo from the silence.
That was new too.
Twenty seconds passed.
Then Connor said, “It’s loud.”
Leo glanced toward the band.
“The music?”
Connor shook his head.
“Everything.”
His hand rose near his ear, then lowered again.
“Glasses.
Chairs.
People talking while other people talk.
Ice.
Marco.”
Marco stiffened.
Leo’s eyes narrowed.
“Marco?”
Connor’s fingers began tapping against his own leg.
Maya recognized the rhythm immediately.
Fast now.
“Connor,” Marco cut in, “don’t start making things up because you’re upset.”
The tapping became faster.
Leo looked at Marco.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Marco closed his mouth.
Connor stared at the floor.
“He kicks the chair.”
Maya heard Eddie inhale behind the bar.
Leo’s expression did not change, but something in the room did.
Every person there understood that Marco had just become the center of Leo Russo’s attention for the worst possible reason.
“What chair?” Leo asked.
Connor pointed toward the brown leather chair beneath the amber lamp.
“Mine.”
Marco laughed once, too quickly.
“Come on.
I’ve bumped it a couple times.
The place is tight.”
Maya spoke before she could reconsider.
“I’ve seen him kick it.”
Marco turned on her.
“Stay out of this.”
“No,” Leo said.
Marco stopped.
