Liliya falls back a few steps, hitting my chest.
Oliver tilts his head, squinting in my direction. “Emilio? Is that you?Cavolo!Long time no see!”
He waves us forward, grinning like we’re old friends.
We’re not.
While we’re the same age, the only time we’ve spoken is when I came here for dinners and he bussed tables for his family.
The smell of fresh-baked bread, Parmesan, and garlic lingers in the air. A thunder of memories of my family hits me.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” Oliver asks as the door shuts behind us.
“My wife,” I reply, completely emotionless.
“Does your wife have a name?”
“Liliya,” she answers for me, offering her hand to him. “Don’t mind my husband. He forgets I exist sometimes. Matter of fact, this is the first time I’ll have eaten in days.” She drops his hand, turning to look at me smugly. “He prefers to keep his hostage hungry.”
Oliver glances from her to me before raising a bushy brow. “Newlyweds, I take it?”
I nod while grabbing Liliya’s half ponytail and jerking it back.
She hisses in pain.
“Explains it.” He tips his head, half bowing toward Liliya. “It’s nice to meet you, Liliya. I hope your husband brings you here for plenty of date nights. The rest of the party is in the burgundy room. You two enjoy your meals.” He smiles at Liliya, then me, before walking down the hall.
Oliver knows how this world works.
His family isn’t in the Mafia, but they cater to us.
For decades, the restaurant has provided us with a place to talk business with other families or the privacy to kill another man who’s crossed us. I was fourteen when my father told me they charge extra for cleaning blood off walls and any cold bodies must be removed within the hour.
Liliya winces while tugging away from me.
I wait three seconds before I release her hair. A punishment for her little attitude.
She rubs at her scalp while turning to glance at me. “Burgundy room?”
“That way.” I motion toward the hallway lined with photos and doors that lead to private rooms. “Third room on the right.”
The same room where I killed my first man.
I slit his throat with my dinner knife and sat next to him, eating dessert while he bled out. He held his neck, begging me for a bullet to the head, a quick death of mercy. I stabbed my fork through his eye for asking such a disrespectful question.
My father said I’d never made him prouder.
All Liliya’s confidence is gone as she takes slow steps toward the room. As we grow closer, I hear commotion on the other side of the door.
Ignazio, one of our foot soldiers, stands guard at the door.
“Emilio,” he greets, stepping to the side before nodding toward Liliya. “Liliya.”
She smiles at him nervously, staying behind me as I push open the door into chaos.
We’re barely inside when I hear her mutter, “Holy shit. I’m in Mafia hell.”
She has no damn clue what’s coming.
