Chapter 4 Santino
I wake up on Day Two feeling like I've got this whole thing figured out.
Liana Costa is beautiful, polite, and clearly understands her role. Last night's dinner was good. A little formal, maybe, but that's to be expected. We're still getting to know each other.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from her.
Liana: Good morning! Still on for dinner tonight? Can't wait!!!
I stare at the message. Three exclamation points. It's seven in the morning. Who's this cheerful at seven in the morning?
Me: Yes. I'll pick you up at 7.
Liana: Perfect! Just so you know, I'm on a really strict diet right now, so I'll probably just get a salad or something light. But I'm excited to see you!!!
She ends with a heart symbol. I'm starting to think this is just how she texts.
Me: Whatever you want. See you tonight.
I set down my phone and head for the shower. Tonight, I'm taking her to Marconi's, the best Italian restaurant in the city. Expensive, exclusive, romantic. The kind of place where you take someone you want to impress.
Not that I'm trying to impress her. This is still business. But first impressions matter, and I want her to know what kind of life she's going to have with me. The best of everything.
By nine, I'm at the social club where my crew does most of our planning. It's an old building in the heart of our territory, nondescript from the outside but equipped with everything we need inside. Security, privacy, and a fully stocked bar.
Bruno's already there, going through paperwork. Paulie's on his phone, probably updating his ridiculous betting pool. Tommy's in the corner, reading a newspaper like it's still 1985. And Sal's making espresso, because Sal always makes espresso.
"Morning, boss." Bruno looks up. "How's married life?"
"I'm not married yet." I drop into my chair. "Thirty-eight more days."
"Thirty-eight days," Paulie repeats, grinning. "You make it sound like a prison sentence."
"It's not a prison sentence. It's a business arrangement." I accept the espresso Sal hands me. "One that's going very smoothly, by the way."
"Oh yeah?" Paulie leans forward. "How smooth we talking?"
"She's perfect." I take a sip. "Polite. Beautiful. Knows her place. Last night went exactly as planned."
"Uh huh." Bruno's studying me with that look he gets when he thinks I'm full of shit. "And the heart symbols in her texts?"
I nearly choke on my espresso. "How do you know about that? Did you hack my phone?"
"Didn't have to." Paulie waves his phone. "You left it face-up on the table."
"The hearts are just how she texts. It doesn't mean anything."
"Sure, boss." Tommy doesn't look up from his newspaper. "Hearts never mean anything."
"They don't when you're twenty-eight and grew up with smartphones." I'm defensive now, which is stupid. "It's just punctuation."
"Dangerous punctuation," Sal mutters.
Before I can respond, Paulie's phone chimes. He looks at it, then grins. "Betting pool update. Current odds on you making it to Day Forty without losing your mind over this girl: three to one."
"Who's betting against me?"
"Everyone except Bruno." Paulie scrolls through his screen. "He refused to participate on moral grounds."
I look at Bruno. "Thank you. I appreciate you having my back."
"I'm not participating because I think you'll make it," Bruno clarifies. "I'm not participating because I don't bet on sure things. You're definitely going to lose your mind."
"I am not going to—" I stop. Take a breath. "I am completely in control of this situation."
"If you say so, boss." Paulie's still grinning. "What's tonight? Another formal dinner?"
"Marconi's. Seven o'clock."
"Marconi's?" Sal raises his eyebrows. "That's fancy."
I finish my espresso. "I want to show her what she's getting into. The lifestyle. The quality of life."
"Or you want to impress her," Tommy suggests.
"I don't need to impress her. She's already agreed to the arrangement."
"But you want to, anyway." Bruno's watching me too carefully. "Why?"
"Because that's what you do. You take your fiancée to nice places. It's expected."
"Right." Bruno exchanges a look with Paulie. "Expected."
I ignore them and dive into work. We've got shipments to coordinate, territory disputes to manage, the usual day-to-day operations of running a criminal empire. It keeps me busy until six, when I realize I need to go home and change.
"Good luck tonight, boss," Paulie calls as I'm leaving. "Try not to do anything stupid."
"Like what?"
"Like fall for her."
“Fuck you.” I flip him off and leave.
At six-thirty, I'm dressed in my best suit, and heading to the Costa estate to pick up Liana. I've got reservations at seven-thirty, which gives us time to drive there, have a drink, settle in.
Tonight, will be perfect.
I pull up to the Costa gates, and the guards wave me through. They know who I am now. Soon, this'll be one of my homes too. My territory. My empire.
The thought sits well.
I park and head to the door. Ring the bell. Wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally, Gia answers. Liana's younger sister. She's got that same dark hair, same sharp eyes, but she's looking at me like I'm a door-to-door salesman.
"Santino." She cracks the door halfway and doesn't invite me in. "Liana's almost ready."
"Almost?" I check my watch. "We have reservations."
"I know. She knows. She's just..." Gia trails off. "She'll be down in a minute."
She closes the door in my face.
I stand on the porch, waiting. Check my watch again. Seven o'clock. We need to leave now if we're going to make it. If you’re late, they give your reservation away. At seven-fifteen, the door finally opens. And Liana steps out.
She looks incredible. Different from last night. Less formal. The dress is red, fitted, with some kind of wrap detail I don't understand but appreciate. Her hair's loose and wavy.
She put effort into this. A lot of effort.
"Sorry!" She's breathless, clutching a small purse. "I couldn't decide what to wear. Do I look okay?"
"You look beautiful. But we need to go. Reservations are at seven-thirty."
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" She rushes to the car. "I was trying on six different dresses and couldn't decide and then I had to redo my makeup because the first makeup didn't match the dress and—"
"It's fine." I open her door. "We'll still make it."
We won't make it.
The drive is spent with her talking. About her day, about the dresses she tried on, about some show she's watching. I'm only half-listening, focused on getting us to the restaurant before we lose the reservation.
We pull up at seven-forty. Ten minutes late, but salvageable.
"This place is gorgeous!" Liana's staring at the restaurant like it's a palace. "I've always wanted to come here!"
"Really?" I hand my keys to the valet. "You've never been?"
"No! Papa always said it was too expensive for casual dining." She actually does air quotes. "But this isn't casual, right? This is a real date?"
A real date. The words sit strangely for a couple expected to marry soon. "Yes. A real date."
Her smile is bright. "I'm so excited! Aren’t you?"
Inside, Marconi's is exactly what I wanted. Dim lighting, white tablecloths, quiet elegance. The ma?tre d' recognizes me immediately.
"Mr. Marcello. Welcome." He doesn't mention that we're late. He’s professional. "Your table is ready."
We're led to a corner booth, private and perfect. Liana slides in, looking around with wide eyes.
"This is so romantic," she breathes.
"It's one of the best restaurants in the city." I settle across from her. "I thought you'd enjoy it."
"I do! I mean, I will! I mean—" She laughs, nervous. "Sorry. I'm babbling."
"It's fine." And weirdly, it is. Her enthusiasm is different from the usual jaded attitudes I deal with.
The waiter appears with menus and the wine list. I order a bottle of Barolo, expensive and classic, perfect for the meal I'm planning.
"And for the lady?" The waiter looks at Liana.
"Oh, um..." She's studying the menu like it's written in code. "What's good?"
"Everything," I say. "But the steak is incredible. It's their signature dish."
She looks up. "How big is it?"
"Substantial." The waiter smiles. "Twenty-four ounces, dry-aged, served with roasted vegetables and—"
"Oh, I can't." Liana sets down her menu. "I'm on a really strict diet right now. Summer body, you know?" She pats her flat stomach. "I'll just have a garden salad. No dressing."
I blink. "A salad?"
"Yes! Just lettuce. Maybe some tomatoes if they have them?" She smiles at the waiter. "No cheese, no croutons, nothing fun. Just greens and a tomato. No dressing either."
The waiter looks at me. I look at her.
"Liana, this is Marconi's. You can get a salad anywhere. At least try something—"
"No, no, I'm being really good about this." She's firm. "I've been eating so badly lately. Time to get back on track. I need to be able to fit into my wedding dress, right?"
"Are you sure?" I'm already mourning the meal I was planning. "We could share something—"
"I'm sure! You get whatever you want, though. Don't let me stop you. Order anything you want!"
I try not to let out a sigh. If she wants to starve herself, that's her choice. I order the steak. Medium-rare, the way it's meant to be eaten.
While we wait, Liana talks. About her charity work. About her friends. About absolutely nothing of substance. Non-stop chatter that goes on and on.
Our food arrives. Her salad is exactly what she ordered, a plate of lettuce and a few sad tomatoes.
My steak is a work of art. Twenty-four ounces of perfectly aged beef, charred on the outside, pink in the middle, smelling like heaven.
I cut into it, and Liana watches. Stares, actually. Practically drooling over my steak.
"That looks amazing," she says.
"It is." I take a bite. Perfect. "Marconi's doesn't disappoint."
She spears a piece of lettuce. Chews several times. Looks at my steak again.
"Can I have just one bite?" she asks. "Just to try it?"
I pause mid-cut. "You want a bite of my steak."