"Il passato è la radice di chi sei, e non puoi cambiarlo."

(The past is the root of who you are, and you can't change it.)

Isabella Visconti

Enzo

Sal and I remain alone, staring at each other. I wait for a response.
I don’t actually need Sal’s answer, Gino already agreed before storming out the room. But it’s a matter of respect. And even if his son is in charge now, Sal can give me a hard time if he wants. I glance at the door where Gino left a few minutes ago, looking annoyed.
He walked out without another word and more impatient than necessary.

Then Sal sighs and finally speaks.
“Enzo, do whatever you want. Talk to Gino. It was an entertaining evening.”
He leans back in his chair, done with the matter.
“Gino will come back to bother me about this later,” Sal adds, amused.

“Thanks for the dinner. I’m leaving, then.” I stand and leave through the door.

“Enzo.”
I stop before reaching the doorknob.
“È bello vederti,” (It's nice to see you) he tells me warmly. My chest tightens.
“Anche tu, vecchio,” (You too, old man) I reply.
“Buona fortuna, ragazzo. Ne avrai bisogno.” (Good luck, kid. You're going to need it.) He waves me off, done with the matter.

I walk quickly to the exit. Dominic is there ready to open the door.
“You look the same as always, Dom.” He just answers with a polite and distant smile. I feel that pain in the chest again and hurry outside.

Jennifer must be waiting, but when I reach the car, she isn’t there.
In the silence of the night, her faint and bright laugh guides me like a siren’s song.
As I get closer, I hear her voice and a man’s. Gino.
I approach quietly, unnoticed.

“He’s dangerous, Jenny. Stay. You’ll be safe here.” I catch the worry in his tone.
“You’re too,” she points out.
“You know I’d never hurt you.”
“That’s not the matter,” she says, dryly.
“I have an idea… If you stay…” His voice turns into a whisper I barely catch, but the tone says it all.

I spot them. He’s speaking into her ear, hand resting lightly on her waist.
My hand itches for a cigarette. I slide it into the inside of my coat, nothing. Fuck.
“I’m… I’m not interested.”
She sounds hesitant. I keep searching for the box with no luck. Until finally, she pushes him away.

“If you try this again, we can’t keep being friends, Gino.”
“Okay. I’m sorry… Maybe my father’s words got in my head.” He lifts his arms in surrender.
“I promise, it won’t happen again. Please… you’re my only friend, Jenny.”

He takes a step back, hands in his pockets. She just stares at him.
“Was worth the shot,” he says playfully with a shrug, echoing his father’s words from earlier.
She laughs light, careless, and he chuckles low.

I’ve had enough.
“Jennifer.” Her name leaves me like a ghost’s touch, too intimate, maybe. Meant to break their moment. “We need to go,” I say, tone sharper than intended.

She looks at me but doesn’t answer. She noticed the slip. Of course she did.
Gino takes her hand and kisses the back of it.
“Be careful, Jenny,” he says.
“As always.” She turns gracefully, walking past me. Her coconut scent lingers in the air before it fades and it’s replaced with the jasmine smell.

I stay there for a moment, drowning in that familiar smell that now only brings pain. The warm night breeze does nothing to lift the heavy weight of years and distance.
Gino speaks first, arms crossed, voice low and stern:
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Consider our debt settled.” He thinks for a moment, then adds,
“This’ll sound cliché, but if you hurt her, you’ll have a problem with me.”

Second threat of the day. I wonder if Jennifer knows how deep her connections run.
I exhale, not bothering to hide my weariness.
“Don’t worry. She knows how to take care of herself.”
I turn to follow her.

“Stronzo,” (asshole) he mutters, just loud enough for it to land.
I don’t look back.
“Dominato dalla moglie,” (Whipped.) I reply the same way I would’ve, fifteen years ago.

For a faint instant, the warmth of nostalgia brushes past me.
But the weight of our choices swallows it whole. The feeling is taken away by the breeze (I don’t regret it) and I keep walking and get in the car.

She’s already in the driver’s seat, music playing softly, singing along like it’s just another Friday night. I buckle up, and she pulls out onto the road.
“Well, that was fun,” she says, turning the wheel.
I let out a sarcastic laugh. Sure.

I spot the cigarette box in the side compartment of the door. Finally. I crack the window open, light one, and inhale deeply, elbow resting on the frame. Every word replays in my head. Jennifer standing her ground with Sal. For a faint second, I feared I’d end the night cleaning her blood off the wall. He’s not like him, I had to remind myself. And then Gino. Too close, for people who only worked together. Too many questions. Curiosity gnaws at me.

“So... you and Gino, huh?” I ask, as casually as I can manage. There’s a long pause before she answers.
“Yes. But we’re just friends now.” She leaves it at that. But I can’t help myself.
“How did you meet?” I ask. I try to sound indifferent.

She gives me a glance, amused.
“At a dance club. I was in a bad mood, the place was shit, and I took it out on the first hot man I saw at the bar. It was him.” I try to picture her in a club… sweat, heat, tight spaces. Can’t quite see it.
“You didn’t know who he was?” His name doesn’t exactly go unnoticed in this city.
“No. Not until later.”
“That’s why you’re not with him?” I toss out, watching her reaction.

“You like gossip, huh?” she shoots back, a spark in her eye. “I don’t care what he does for a living. We had fun, but I didn’t feel the same. So I ended it. But we get along, so we stayed friends.”

“I could’ve sworn you looked like you wanted to stay with him.” It slips out a little bitter than I meant, and she caught it, her green eyes gleam with mischief.
“Are you... perhaps interested in me?” she asks, blinking dramatically.
“Forget it,” I snap too fast, too sharp. It tastes like blood on my tongue.

She laughs, the tension melting away.
“Don’t you know how to take a joke? Gods... of course I was tempted to stay with him. After the past two stressful days, spending time with a man who knows what he’s doing doesn’t sound ba—” She cuts herself off. She’s said too much and tries to recover. “You’re right. Let’s forget it,” she says plainly.

But it’s too late. The mood shifts. I glare at her, and she focuses on the road.
The insinuation sticks in my mind. The urge to test her, to see how far she’d let me go, even if I won’t go til the end.

Now it’s my turn.
“If that plan still tempts you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

We stop at a red light. She turns her head and stares at me, analyzing, calculating. She tries to hide it, but the faint blush gives her away.
Then she shakes her head.
“No, thanks.” Her voice is soft but firm. The blush is still there, though fading… so she’s not as indifferent to me as she likes to pretend.
“Because?” I ask as she looks back to the road.
“Because I’m not interested in something casual anymore,” she says, calm, almost matter-of-fact. “So I should reject your tempting offer.”Her tone leaves no room for negotiation. 

I don’t push further. I got what I needed. I take a slow, deliberate drag of my cigarette, the smoke curling lazily as I exhale through a faint smile.
A silent win.

We arrive at the house. Rem and Mark are on the couch, the TV casting flickers over their faces.
Rem looks at me, inquisitive.
“Tomorrow,” I say, distracted when Jennifer walks past us without a word.
Her silhouette commands the room, each step quiet but absolute, then disappears into her room.

The sound of the lock clicks shut, noticeable even over the low murmur of the TV.
The air shifts with her absence. Rem clears his throat.
A reminder: he’s watching. That he knows there’s more I haven’t said.
I head for the bathroom.
I need a cold shower and a drink.
In that order.