"Do you hurt children?"
"I already told you I don't."
"Have you killed people?" I ask.
"Yes," he says.
"How many?"
"I stopped keeping count a long time ago."
The wind blows his shirt to the side. One of his tattoos catches my eye. It's a girl's name, and it's tattooed right over his heart.
Ida.
I want to ask him who that is, but I'm not sure if I want to know.
"How did you get into this life?" I ask him. "From what I understand, you weren't born into the mafia."
"I was already an orphan when Don Savastano took me under his wing. He taught me everything I know today. He made me who I am," he says, looking lost in time.
I glance back down at his chest. The name seems to glow in the dark. And before I can stop myself, I blurt out the question.
"Who's Ida?"
He stills. His face turns into stone before he looks back at the ocean.
"Your twenty questions are over, little bird," he whispers.
My lips part. I didn't realize he was keeping count.
"What's your favorite flower?" he asks.
After all the heavy things we discussed, the frivolous question catches me off guard.
"Sunflowers," I say. "They make me happy."
"Your favorite food?" he asks.
"I used to buy dinner from a taco truck when I was in California," I say. "I love Mexican food.”
The memory feels bittersweet, like that short moment in time was an end of an era I'll never return to.
“Do you have a favorite hobby?” he asks.
“Perfumes,” I say. “It was one of the only hobbies my mother allowed. I love playing with scents and making perfumes.”
He's looking at me in that way again. Like I'm someone he finds interesting.
I don't think anyone has ever looked at me in this way before.
He finishes the rest of his sandwich. I stare up at the stars.
As I listen to the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs, something occurs to me.
One of his questions was about the dungeons.
I'm certain I never mentioned them to him before. It’s supposed to be a part of the house nobody knew about. Not even my mother's business associates know about the dungeons.
