Sofia has been thinking about Saul, and she has been expecting to feel anger but she has been surprised to feel pride, instead. She can see how hard Saul has been working, and she realizes that part of what has attracted her so ferociously to him over the last months has been a sense that there is something he is keeping to himself. Something he is doing apart from her, apart from her family. Sofia has always been attracted to power, and this new thing that lives in Saul is power incarnate: he has been making choices. Fulfilling something. Saul has been forging his own path.

When a black car finally pulls up to the front of the building, she recognizes Tommy Fianzo Jr. immediately. He has the same narrowed eyes he did as a mean little boy. The same smirk, which sits crookedly over his teeth, the same slightly too big for his face lips. He unfolds himself from the car and looks her over with the same disdain. “They told me you were working,” he says to her. On the other side of the car, a man—a guard—shuts his own door. “They also told me you were smart.” Sofia says nothing. “But here you are,” Tommy Jr. says, “so I must have been given false information. Well. It’s not the first time.” Sofia can tell he is enjoying this. She keeps her face neutral.

“I thought we could have a conversation,” she says.

“No harm in a simple conversation,” says Tommy Jr. “Check her,” he says, and then jerks his head. In one motion, the guard comes around Tommy’s car toward Sofia. His hands are on her before she can think: they are rough and dispassionate, as though Sofia could be a bag of sand, a block of ice. He presses his fingers against her ribs, her calves, the small of her back. “She’s clear,” he says to Tommy Jr.

“Very well,” says Tommy Jr. He gestures for Sofia to follow him upstairs.

The Fianzo office smells like stale meat, something brown and sinister Sofia does not want to inhale too deeply. Tommy Fianzo Jr. offers her a seat before lighting a noxious cigar that clouds Sofia’s eyesight and mind. She and Fianzo could be anywhere. They could be the last two people alive.

“I know what my husband has been doing,” says Sofia. “And judging by the state of him, I assume you do too.”

“ ‘The state of him’?” asks Tommy Jr. He leans forward, interested. “I haven’t touched him, no.” He raises a hand, anticipating Sofia’s disbelief. “It’s true! I would admit it if I had. And I’ll admit I’m glad someone has.”

“I’m sure you are,” says Sofia. Make him feel safe. Make him feel like it was his idea. “I wanted to apologize for him.”

“And what good do you think that will do?” asks Tommy Jr.