Page 65 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
One keeps his head down and checks his phone.
The other keeps his head up.
His eyes work the room and come to rest on us.
He is not family.
I switch to Italian without changing my face.
“Sorridi e mangia.Nonguardare a sinistra.”
She understands.
Of course she does.
She lifts her fork.
She smiles like she has no idea why I'm speaking Italian and keeps eating.
I wipe my mouth.
I don't look left.
Thesecondiarrive.
Branzinowith lemon and capers for her.
Veal with sage for me.
The man at the next table lowers his eyes when the plates hit.
He says something low to his friend and stands.
He walks to the restroom.
His friend follows after a minute.
I relax a notch and cut into the veal.
Elisa watches me. “You think they followed us.”
“They followed me.” I take another bite. “It's fine.”
“You always say that.”
“I only say it when it's true.”
She gives me a look that says she will decide for herself.
She tastes the fish and closes her eyes for a second.
She opens them and nods toward the photos again.
“Tell me more about the Council.”
“Some years were quiet. Some years drew blood. The old men knew how to keep both inside a room. You spoke plainly. You did not posture. If you were wrong, you paid. If you broke a promise, you sat next to the door the next year. If you broke a truce, you did not come back.”
“And this year?”
