to get him there.
Tito had told me he had arranged the meeting, which meant Mac Macchiavello had enough pull with one of the biggest crime families in history to get my grandfather to dinner. Even Emilio Capitani had a boss.
It wasn’t a usual steak and potato place, but then again, it was. The smell of meat and starch meandered through the air, but so did high-quality booze from the opposite side of the restaurant, where people could get a pricey drink and listen to live music. The bar was old time, prohibition-influenced. It was already starting to get crowded.
I recognized a few men right away. They usually traveled in packs, and this place accommodated them.
Alcina squeezed my hand. “It smells good in here,” she said. “Familiar.”
“You used to steak and potatoes?” I said.
“No.” She shook her head. “You can’t smell it? It smells Italian.”
I purposely went a little deeper when I inhaled. I nodded. “Yeah. It does.” After she pointed it out, I could smell garlic and tomatoes lingering underneath the heavy scent of red meat. It was almost on every plate.
“I would try the Italian dishes,” she said, “but I do not want to be disappointed.”
I laughed at her sour face. “Spoken like a true Italian,” I said. “No one’s cooking is as good as yours—or like your mamma or nonna makes.”
We passed a table where a woman had some kind of pasta dish. Alcina narrowed her eyes, studying the woman’s plate as if she was rating it mentally.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Hm?”
“The verdict on the pasta dish.” I nodded toward it. The woman gave us a hard look before she set her fork down, refusing to eat while two strangers stared at her.
“Ah. It looks pretty good.” She smiled. “Actually, sorprendente.”
“Since it looks amazing,” I said, “we’ll get a few things to try.”
We met the men who had gone in ahead of us to get a table. A man dressed in a suit, who introduced himself as Sylvester, told us to follow him. He led us to a room that was set off of the restaurant itself. It looked like it was used for parties. A table that fit no less than fifty sat in the center. A two-way glass was built in the wall.
“Compliments of Mr. Macchiavello,” Sylvester said, placing our menus down on the table.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’d like to speak to him.”
Sylvester nodded. “I will let him know.” He gestured to the table. “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Capitani.” Then he left Alcina and me alone.
My men waited outside the door, since this was an outing with my wife. I wouldn’t mix business with pleasure, even though I could feel it starting to spill over in this fucking place.
“You want the door closed, boss?” Baggio asked, sticking his head in the room. He had been in Adriano’s crew before Adriano went to Sicily. He’d been promoted in Adriano’s absence.
I looked to my left a little, where Adriano stood. I made eye contact with him. Adriano told Baggio something, and instead of closing the door the entire way, he left a small crack open and then stood in front of it. Nunzio stood right next to him. I had asked him to come to New York for a while, to keep an eye on Alcina.
I pulled out Alcina’s chair, and she fixed her dress before she took a seat. I took the one next to her at the head of the table.
She looked over her shoulder. “That is interesting.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching as a woman stopped to check her lipstick as she passed. The mirror was on the other side. “You don’t see that often.”
We both checked out the menu, but I wasn’t really there for the food. A few minutes later, Sylvester came back in and took our orders.
I grinned when Alcina ordered three different items. I figured I’d have the steak, since it was my grandfather’s last meal.
“Good choices,” Sylvester said in Italian. “It will not be a long wait.”
As soon as he disappeared, a woman came with our drinks. Alcina took a sip of her water with lemon. She had been quiet ever since we left the burial.
I took her hand. “Tell me.”
“Tell you…?” She tilted her head, studying me.
“What’s on your mind.”
She sighed. “Something feels familiar about this place…the smell.” She inhaled. “Chocolate and lemon. It reminds me of Modica. The chocolate shop there.”
She was intuitive. I hadn’t even realized it, but it did. The day we went to drop off the