Doc asks Bobby about the Czech ceramics he’s just sourced for a private collector in Hudson.
January perks up when he mentions blown glass. “I think I saw something like that at The Met last year.” She says it in a nervous rush, as though expecting us to punish her.
Doc smirks. “The only time I’ve been to the Met is to sell weed.”
January’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yeah, he was some doctor’s kid who wanted to meet in the European sculpture and decorative arts section…”
January listens with rapt attention as Doc tells the story. Bobby intervenes, correcting Doc’s errors and deflating his egotistic proclamations. I watch all three of them with a smile. My brothers are happy. Even Rossi doesn’t look so fucking miserable. It reminds me of being back in my Nonno’s house, surrounded by his friends and cousins and their wives, all of them drinking wine, and telling stories.
Gretzky returns with the meat course and it’s as good as anything my Nonna ever served. I have to fight not to praise January. As with her beauty, my appreciation of her cooking has to be tempered or it will ruin her.
I notice her wine glass is almost empty. For someone who didn’t want any, she’s getting through it fast. There’s a glow in her eyes and her movements are more languid. I refill her glass.
We finish our second course and the mood becomes even lighter. As January, Doc, and Bobby laugh and flirt, I consider where we should take her after this. We could go back into the living room, but my bedroom has full-length mirrors and a minibar—and I want to see everything.
Bobby gestures at his empty bowl. “This was perfect, JJ.”
“Thank you,” she says. “The pastina was a little overdone.”
I can’t help laughing. “Are you sure you aren’t Italian,bella?”
January turns pink but I know she likes the question. “I suppose I’m used to my Zia Teresa giving me feedback.”
“A maid correcting your behavior? Did you get angry at her?”
She looks shocked. “Of course not. You can’t improve without correction.”
I study her over my wineglass. It’s a rare thing, a woman who can receive criticism without taking it personally. I think of my vow to send her to Gio. To let some other swine possess this jewel of a girl.
“Where’s Gretzky?” Doc demands. “I want dessert.”
January draws a breath. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t make anything.”
“I know you didn’t,” I tell her. “I had Harvey pick up some cannoli.”
She gives a shy smile. “That sounds wonderful. I love cannoli.”
“Good,” Doc says. “I’m going to handfeed you in my lap.”
January barely has time to react. There’s a loud rap on the door and Schnee comes into the room. “Sorry to interrupt. We have an issue.”
“What?” I say. The warm, date-like atmosphere immediately vanishes.
“A crew has shown up to the north river warehouse. It looks like they’re trying to burn the place down.”
“Shit,” Doc hisses. “How many?”
“Two dozen. Fully armed as far as we can tell.”
Doc stands, pressing a napkin to his mouth. “So much for the lack of threats. Basher?”
Bobby’s already on his feet. “We’ll take the chopper,” he tells Schnee. “Tell Piscopo we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Adriano drains his wineglass. “Fucking assholes.”
“Go,” I say. “Contact me as soon as you have news.”
