“Just wanna have a nice talk with ‘em,” the guy said, shrugging. “Me and my knife, we can sweet-talk him all night,” he went on.
And the crazy thing was, I think he not only meant that, even though he didn’t know me, but that he would…enjoythat.
“Brio…” Cesare said, his tone a warning that the Brio guy promptly ignored.
“Start with the eyelids. You got any idea how fucking painful it can get not to be able to blink your eyes? Couldn’t look away when I started peeling some other—“
“For fuck’s sake, Brio,” Cesare said, nudging the guy with his arm. “You don’t even know her,” he added.
“She’s here, ain’t she?” Brio shot back, shrugging.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Way I see it, two things,” Brio said. “One, she’s a woman who someone put their hands on. And she’s here where we can see it, so that requires some action. Two, she’s here. At Salvatore’s place. Which means something else too. So, whose eyelids am I slicing off?” he asked, looking back at me.
And I was pretty sure the man was actually expecting a name.
I mean, yeah. In fiction, guys like Brio existed. Guys who did the dirty work. Enforcers. Contract killers. That kind of thing.
Objectively, I guess, you had to imagine that art imitated life.
It was just weird to be face-to-face with one who wanted to murder someone for me. After a long night of torturing him first.
“How about we try this again,” Cesare said, trying hard to be the voice of reason while Salvatore just stood there looking kind of amused by the whole thing. “Brio, this is Whitney. The teacher and part-time waitress Salvatore fished a couple bullets out of recently.”
“Oh, no shit,” Brio said, shooting me a smile like he suddenly recognized an old friend.
“Whitney, this is Brio,” Cesare went on. “He’s feral,” he added.
I couldn’t help it. A strange, high-pitched sort of laugh escaped me at that very accurate description.
Embarrassed, and feeling very out of place suddenly, I took a step backward.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted a meeting or something. I was just looking for a cup of coffee.”
Why was Salvatore saying nothing?
Did it bother him that I was interacting with his Family?
“No meeting,” Cesare, clearly the one with the best manners out of the bunch. “We were just dropping in to check on the invalid,” he said, gesturing toward Anthony.
“And yet none of you fuckers has offered to get me a cup of coffee yet,” Anthony grumbled.
“Oh, I can—“ I started, moving toward the kitchen, only to have Salvatore step in my way.
“Don’t. His lazy ass needs to move around more than he is. If you start waiting on him, he won’t do it.”
“It’s just a cup of coffee,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t mind.”
“Hear that? She doesn’t mind. And I had to get up to answer the door since someone wasn’t going to,” Anthony said, shooting Salvatore a raised-brow look.
“How about you sit your pretty ass down and I’ll get you a coffee?” he asked instead, voice low. “You wait on people enough. Unless you’d rather have it in the room,” he said. Then, leaning closer, “I know Brio can be a little…”
“Psychotic?” I offered in a whisper.
“I was going to say intense. But that shoe fits him too.”
“I’ll take it in the room. It seems like you haven’t explained my presence here to them yet.”