She swallows deeply. “I thought I was doing my dad a favor, staying here and helping him. Besides, I didn’t know what I wanted. Or, maybe, I couldn’t admit to myself that what I want is more…sinister, than my dad would want for me.”
I lean forward, speaking quietly. “And do you know what you want now?”
She hears the playfulness in my voice, smiles, but answers seriously. “Not exactly. But it’s definitely not to work in a bookstore.”
I nod with a smile. “You’ll find your niche.”
Her eyes convey her feelings back to me. She purses her lips to tell me something, a thought that she’s struggling to convey, and one that retreats when we get interrupted by Gino, who’s bringing our first dishes over.
My mouth tightens toward Mia as the dishes are laid out in front of us.
“Bruschetta with rosemary ricotta, prosciutto di Parma and a mushroom ravioli to start,” Gino points to each dish, then leans in to whisper something in my ear. “Mr. Moretti, there is a man at the bar who wishes to speak with you, and he said he has a proposition.”
I glance over to the bar at the far end of the restaurant, and I see some asshole in a leather jacket wave his hand at me.
I pull Gino closer. “Tell whoever the fuck that is that I respectfully ask him to make an appointment. Tonight, I’m not available. Give him a bottle of something, then send him on his way.”
Gino nods, smiles at Mia, then leaves the table.
“Everything okay?” She asks, looking back to the bar without having to look too far. The leather-wearing douchebag keeps nodding at me. “A friend of yours?”
“It’s nothing,” I answer. “Come on, try some mushroom ravioli. The recipe is actually my grandmother’s.” I’m trying to keep the dinner going, but this motherfucker is getting on my nerves—especially when I see him shove Gino to one side after taking the bottle of wine. Apparently, this guy has the audacity to approach my table.
“Antonio Moretti,” the guy says, his hair slicked back, the short, stocky prick. “My name is Joey Lastra. I don’t know if you recognize me or not, but I’ve been trying to get a sit-down with you for quite a while. So I was thinking, since we’re both here and all, maybe you can give me ten minutes of your time. I think it’s the least I deserve.”
I smile toward Mia, then lookup. “Look, Joey Lastra. I’m in the middle of dinner here. Like I told Gino, you can arrange an appointment. In the meantime, let me offer you dinner on the house. Enjoy yourself.”
“I appreciate that,” the guy says, “but with all due respect, all I need is ten minutes. I’ll tell you what, finish your drink with your girlfriend—hi sweetheart—and come on over. I’ll wait at the bar.”
I laugh with a gust of air. “Mia, you don’t mind if I take ten minutes away from the table, do you? Seems our friend here is eager to have a drink with me.”
Mia accepts, although her eyes narrow with confusion.
I follow Joey to the bar, then tell Gino to bring Huxley from next door.
“If it’s business, then my brother should be involved. Come on, let’s go somewhere more quiet.” I put my arm around him. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? The lobster is phenomenal.”
“No, thanks Antonio, I’m sorry for pulling you away from your evening.”
Yeah, you will be sorry.
* * *
“Who the fuckare you to interrupt my meal?” I throw the leather gangster against the beer canisters in the back room and give him a few quick jabs to the nose and chin. Now that my brother is here, we sit him down in a chair. “Hold him, Huxley.”
“Antonio! No disrespect, please!”
“No disrespect? No disrespect, you slick-haired motherfucker!” I take one of the empty bottles collected in a crate by the door and smash it over his head. My vision goes red, my ligaments twitching with an anger that drives my actions. Just the mere fact that he thought he could approach me at my table, let alone demand a sit-down, shows me that he needs to be reminded of his manners.
The guy’s head swirls around after the glass shatters across the left side of his scalp, blood fountains down his face, but he’s still conscious.
“What the fuck you do, Joey?” My brother asks, giving the guy a smack around the back of the head. The dumb fuck, Joey, is breathing as if an elephant is sitting on his chest. He doesn’t answer my brother, but rather moans in distress, blood staining that leather jacket of his.
“You know this prick?” I pace the room like a lion. Once the smell of blood fills the air it’s hard to stop.
“Yeah, some street rat who’s got a hard-on for being an associate. I told him already, it ain’t going to happen.” Huxley leans over the guy. “What did I say, huh? I warned you—didn’t I warn you?”
My brother takes an empty soda crate and smashes it over the asshole’s head, causing him to collapse off the chair onto the floor.
I step forward to give him a boot in the stomach, and the guy screams out in pain.
“Thank you for your interest, but I’m afraid we can’t offer you a position at this moment in time.” I lift his head up and slam it against the tiled floor. “Plus, we don’t offer disability insurance.”
With that, I give an almighty stomp to his kneecaps. He screams out just as my brother joins me, both of us kicking, beating, letting not just this guy, but all of those other fuckers on the street, that the Moretti’s are a family to be feared.