THE LITTLE GIRL ASKED TO SIT WITH A STRANGER—BUT HER MOTHER NEVER EXPECTED THE MAFIA BOSS TO RECOGNIZE HER FACE

small weight against his shoulder.

He read in the same low voice Clara remembered from years ago, when he used to read poetry to her in that coffee shop near Tufts.

Clara watched from the doorway with crossed arms.

Of course she remembered.

He had loved books.

That had been the part of him no one in his world knew about.

The part she once thought was the continue reading …