“Yeah,” I grab my bag with shorts for the fight and we make our way down to the lobby to take a car to the casino. We don’t talk much along the way, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Get a girl, and fuck it out,” I tell him and he snorts. There he is.
“I’m not my father. I won’t sample the goods,” he says.
“No, but I’m sure there will be a girl or two around tonight. Use that charm you have and reel them in,” I answer with a grin.
“I have more charm than you do,” he retorts.
“You wish,” I snicker. I feel like we’re back to how we were before we left. Both of us have been off since we got here. I’ve missed my friend. I’ve let him flounder because of my selfish feelings. That will change.
“I want to help,” I declare.
“With the business?” He asks with surprise.
“Yeah. This is what my father has been trying to instill in me. I think I’ve been so up in my head that I’ve been an asshole.”
“You have, but it’s not every day that one kills their fiancé and cousin in a fit of rage and then his uncle because his father was being threatened,” he quips.
“True. Let me help,” I answer.
“Alright. We will talk about where I need you tomorrow over breakfast, you’re cooking,” he smiles.
“I always cook,” I roll my eyes.
“Because you know-how,” he remarks.
“Because I wanted to learn in case I had to fend for myself,” I reply.
“I can boil water,” he says with a straight face. I break down in laughter for the rest of the ride while he glares at me. People think that mafia types are supposed to be angry men who drink whiskey or vodka and kill, torture, and maim. That’s far from the truth. We’re human also. And when it’s just Tim and I, we know how to have fun. Or he does and I was the angry wallflower. But maybe my father is right, I don’t have to live in the darkness.
We pull up to the lounge and we’re ushered inside, guards armed to the hilt with weapons. Everyone is still on edge, waiting to see what the Italians do. If I was them, I would be waiting to see what we do.
I go straight to my dressing room and set my bag down and pull my gun when I sense that I’m not alone. I flip on the light and freeze, “Adelina?”
“Hi,” she waves awkwardly.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” she says.
“Me? Why? We shouldn’t be seen together. Your men shot one of my friends,” I hiss.
“I know. I am terribly sorry about that. My father was irate about it. I don’t think he wanted anyone to get hurt,” she says.
“What do you want?”
“To talk. I enjoyed talking with you the other day,” she replies softly.
In truth, I did as well.
“Fine, talk,” I am being an asshole but I want her to understand that both of our lives are on the line if she’s found in here.
“You mentioned you had been in an arranged marriage but fell in love. How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. It was a long engagement. I courted her, took her to the movies and dinner. We went on chaperoned trips together. I found we had similar interests in books and would read one and talk about it, like a book club. Over time I found myself falling for her. Why?”
“I’m in an arranged marriage. I was told right before you strolled into my restaurant. My best friend thinks he’s dreamy, but I feel like he’s a stick in the mud. My father thinks he’s a good catch, and that I will fall in love with him over time, but I’m not so sure.”
