“Don’t knock it till you try it!” Mick yelled at their retreating forms.
“Hey,Viola,” I shouted. “You want to race?”
“Bring it,Sandy!”
“Fuck me,” Brando grumbled.
We were off.
Brando held on, not letting go, until we arrived at the restaurant, safe and sound.
* * *
A man dressed in all black waited outside of the restaurant as we made our way toward the entrance, a platter of limoncello balanced on his uplifted hand. Brando knocked it back, his teeth set, shaking his head afterward. It was too sweet for him. He told the man he needed something stronger—he had just defied death.
“It wasn’tthatbad!” I sipped mine, enjoying the sweet flavor as the lemon tingled on my tongue.
“There’s a thin line between life and death, Ballerina Girl. You crossed it a few times in the span of a ten-minute drive.”
I went to elbow him. He dodged.
“I want one for my birthday,” I said, giving Carmen a high-five as we sauntered inside. The air was perfumed with the scents of fresh Italian dishes and wine. “Perfect for trips to the market.”
“Whiskey,” Brando commanded the waiter. “A bottle.”
The restaurant was a favorite of the locals. Tucked inside a nook and cranny of the mountain, it was not well known to tourists, except for those who knew to look for it. They served true Italian dishes, recipes that had been passed down from generation to generation. And on the same day of every year, the restaurant closed down for the Faustifamiglia.
It was a romantic place, candles adorning white linen tables, reflections shimmering in candlelit waves along the expanse of glass walls that lined the front of the property. Below, the sea was as black as the sky, but even from a distance, it was clear to see it was calm. The stars above danced on its sable surface.
“Ah! Luca!”
Brando and I turned to see a plump older man striding toward us, nose like a gourd, belly like a bowl of jelly. Lothario trailed him, hardly keeping up.
“Tell me it cannot be!Lucious!”
We both turned again, to make sure that Luca was not standing behind us.
“Ah no, Stefano, this is not Lucious, but his oldest son. Brando, this is Stefano, the owner of the restaurant.” Lothario cleared the air and then clapped a hand to the man’s beefy shoulder. “Stefano is like family to us.”
“Brando,” Stefano said slowly, taking him in, from the bottom of his feet to the tip of his head. “Wow.”
I laughed at this. The man turned his kind eyes to mine.
“Who is this?”
“Brando’s wife. Scarlett.”
I held out my hand and we shook. He seemed dumbstruck.
“Pleased to meet you, Stefano,” I said.
“Ah.” He opened his mouth and then closed it. “You seem familiar.”
“Scarlett is Maja’s granddaughter,” Lothario said.
The man’s hands came to his mouth. “Maja,” he breathed.
“Sì.” I nodded.
