Valerio smirks. “Or the stubbornness of a mule.”
The two of them continue quietly for another moment like a pair of gossiping housewives until I set my glass down on the table.
The sound is not loud. But it is enough. They both fall silent immediately.
Giovanni clears his throat. “So,” he begins, “are you going to tell us why we are here tonight? Or should we wait?”
I glance briefly toward the hallway where Luca disappeared, then toward the door where Riccardo stepped outside. With two Dons missing, the moment has passed. I lean back slightly in my chair. “We will discuss it when everyone returns.”
Matteo looks surprised. “You’re willing to wait?”
“Yes.”
“That’s unusual.” His surprise seems to deepen.
“Is it?”
“You’re usually all business.”
I take another sip of my drink. “Tonight we can afford a moment of patience.”
Giovanni smiles, faintly. “Well,” he says, “in that case, I suggest another round.”
We rise from the table and move toward the lounge bar.
The restaurant has grown even louder since we arrived. More guests. More movement. More light reflecting off wine glasses and polished silverware.
As we pass the service station, Izzy steps directly into my path. For a moment we stop.
Her eyes lift toward mine. She inclines her head slightly in polite acknowledgement before moving aside to let us pass. Our gazes meet for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Then she turns back toward the dining room.
I continue walking. There are many temptations in this world. Most of them are easy to resist. Some far less so.
A man in my position must remember who he is. Must remember what his life requires of him. Certain pleasures are dangerous. Especially the ones that feel familiar. And some pleasures… are simply not meant to be repeated. No matter how strongly one might wish otherwise.
3
IZZY
By the time the dinner rush begins to slow down, the night already feels like it has lasted two days.
Restaurants have strange rhythms like that. One minute everything is normal, guests chatting quietly over wine and pasta, servers moving in predictable patterns across the room. Then something happens, one small disruption, and suddenly the entire evening spirals into chaos before anyone can stop it.
Tonight seems determined to outdo itself.
I lean against the service counter for half a second and mentally run through everything that has happened since seven o’clock.
First, Erin fainted.
One moment she was walking across the dining room with a tray of glasses. The next she was cornered in the bathroom by freaking Clive, the restaurant’s top financier. I don’t know what happened exactly, but word is, Don Lucchese himself protected her. Then he lifted her in his arms before anyone else could react and carried her straight out of the restaurant without a word.
No one stopped him.
You don’t stop a man like Luca Lucchese when he looks like that.
The entire dining room pretended nothing unusual had happened, which is another skill rich customers develop surprisingly quickly.
