Chapter 9 Liana #2
But I'm already moving to Tommy, the giant. "You're Tommy. You're very tall. What do you do for fun? Or do you not get time for fun? Do you get weekends off? I've always wondered how that works in this kind of business."
Santino's hand lands on my elbow, fingers tightening in warning. "Liana."
I turn to him, blinking innocently. "What? I'm just getting to know them! You said I could."
"You're interrogating them."
"I'm being friendly!" I protest.
Sal chuckles from his seat, clearly amused by the whole situation. "She's got energy, boss. I'll give her that."
"Thank you!" I beam at him, pulling free from Santino's grip. "You must be Sal. You're older than the others."
"I am," he confirms.
"How much older? Are you close to retirement age? Does the mafia have retirement plans? Or do you just work until you die? I've always wondered how that works. Like, is there a pension system? What happens when you can't break legs anymore?"
The room goes completely quiet. The kind of quiet that happens when someone has said something they absolutely should not have said.
"That's a good question, right?" I look around at all of them, genuine curiosity on my face. "I mean, we're all going to be family. I should understand how things work."
"We don't really retire," Sal says carefully, though he looks more amused than offended. "We just slow down. Take on different roles."
"Slow down how? Do you still break people's legs but at a more leisurely pace? Like, 'Give me a minute, my back hurts, then I'll get to your kneecaps'?"
Complete silence now.
"Did I say something wrong?" I look at Santino with wide, innocent eyes. "That's what you do though, right? Or is that just in movies? I'm genuinely curious."
"We don't break legs," Bruno says very carefully, as if explaining to a child.
"What do you break?"
"Liana." Santino's voice is tight, controlled rage barely contained. "That's enough."
"I'm just curious! If we're getting married, I should know what the family business actually involves, shouldn't I?" I turn back to the crew, all innocence. "Tell me. What do you actually do? Shipping? Gambling? Protection money? All of the above?"
"We do business," Paulie says, his grin gone now.
"What kind of business?"
"Various kinds."
"That's vague." I tilt my head, considering. "Have any of you ever killed anyone? What's that like? Is it as hard as they make it seem in films? Do you feel bad afterward, or does it get easier with practice?"
"Okay." Santino grabs my arm, his grip firm. "That's definitely enough."
"What? I'm just asking questions!"
"You're asking completely inappropriate questions about illegal activities."
"But we're all family! Right?" I look at the crew, spreading my hands. "You don't mind, do you? I'm just trying to understand Santo's world."
"We mind," Bruno says diplomatically, though his expression suggests he's reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.
"Oh, well. Sorry then." I don't sound sorry at all. "I'm just trying to understand Santino's world. He never tells me anything. Says I shouldn't worry my pretty little head about business matters."
"I never said that," Santino protests.
"You implied it." I pull free from his grip and start wandering around the room, examining everything. "This is a nice space. Do you ever worry about the carbon footprint of all this leather furniture? Cows produce a lot of methane, you know."
"We don't worry about carbon footprints," Paulie mutters.
"Maybe you should. Climate change affects everyone. Even the mafia. Rising sea levels could impact your port operations, couldn't they? If everything was washed away?"
"We don't call it the mafia," Tommy says, his voice carrying an edge now.
"What do you call it then? The family business? The organization? The syndicate?"
"We call it business," Sal says firmly.
"Right. Business." I nod seriously, as if I'm taking mental notes. "And this business involves what exactly? Because I'd really like to understand the details of—"
"Liana, stop talking." Santino's voice has a dangerous edge now, the kind that probably makes grown men nervous.
"I'm just trying to learn about your work! Is that so wrong?"
"Learn somewhere else. Anywhere else."
I pout, playing the wounded party. "You're no fun."
I move closer and that's when I see it—the slight bulge at the small of his back under his jacket. Another gun. Of course he'd carry one on his body too.
Before anyone can react or stop me, I reach around him and pull the gun from his waistband in one smooth motion.
"Oh my God, you carry one too!" I hold it up, examining it like it's a fascinating artifact. "This is so cool! Can I keep it?"
The entire room freezes. Time seems to stop.
"Liana." Santino's voice is very calm now, the kind of calm that's actually terrifying. Dangerously calm. "Put that down. Right now."
"I just want to look at it." I turn it over in my hands, feeling the weight. Is the safety on? Where is it?” I can feel the lever, but they don't know that. "It's heavier than I expected. What kind is it? A Glock? A Beretta?"
"Give me the gun. Now."
"In a second. How does it work? You just pull this trigger?" I point it at the ceiling, squinting like I'm aiming.
"Don't pull anything!" Bruno stands slowly, hands out in a placating gesture. "Just hand it to Santino. Nice and easy."
"But I want to understand how it works!" I point it at the wall, then swing it around to examine the other side. "You line up these little notches here, right? The sights?"
"Shit," Santino breathes, genuine fear in his voice. "Liana, please. Put down the gun."
"Why? Is it loaded?" I swing it around casually, and the crew all duck simultaneously.
"Fucking hell," Paulie mutters, his face going pale.
"Stop waving it around!" Santino takes a cautious step toward me, hands out like he's approaching a wild animal.
I step back, still holding the gun loosely, examining it from different angles. "I'm just looking! Don't be so paranoid."
"You're waving a loaded weapon!"
"But it's not loaded, right? You wouldn't carry a loaded gun just walking around. That would be dangerous." I lift it up, turning it to catch the light. "How do you even tell if it's loaded? Is there like a little window or something?"
"Liana!!" All four crew members shout at once, their voices overlapping in panic.
Santino moves fast, faster than I expected. He crosses the space between us in two strides, grabs the gun from my hand, and immediately checks the chamber with hands that shake slightly.
"The safety was on," he says. "Jesus Christ! You can't just— what were you thinking?"
"I wanted to see it! I've never held a gun before. It seemed like a good opportunity."
"Never?" He stares at me in disbelief. "Your father is Dominic Costa, one of the most powerful men in Genoa, and you've never held a gun?"
"Papa never let me near them, said they were too dangerous for women." I shrug, playing innocent. "Guess he was right. You all look pretty scared right now."
Santino tucks the gun back into his waistband, then runs both hands through his hair. "You pointed it at yourself. Do you understand that? You pointed a gun at your own head."
"Just for a second. And you said the safety was on!"
"That doesn't matter! You never, ever point a gun at anyone, especially not yourself. Ever."
"But the safety was on! Doesn't that make it safe? That's why it's called a safety, right?"
"That's not the point—"
"Then what is the point?"
He just stares at me. Behind him, his crew is silent, watching this exchange like witnesses to a car accident they can't look away from.
"The point," Santino says finally, "is that you don't touch weapons that don't belong to you. You don't wave them around like toys. And you absolutely don't point them at anyone, even if you think the safety is on."
"Okay." I nod agreeably, as if I'm taking his lecture to heart. "No more touching guns. Got it. I understand completely now."
"No more touching anything," he corrects.
"Anything?"
"Anything in this building." He's looking at me like he's trying to figure out if I'm genuinely this clueless or if something else is happening. If this is an act or if I really am this dangerously naive.
Keep wondering, Santo.
"Can I still touch you?" I ask.
"What?"
"You said not to touch anything. But I can still touch you, right? We're engaged. That's allowed, isn't it?"
Behind him, Paulie makes a choking sound, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
"That's not what I meant," Santino says through gritted teeth.
"Oh good. Because that would be strange. Being engaged but not allowed to touch each other." I step closer, invading his personal space. "What are you all working on today? Can I help? I'm very organized. Good with spreadsheets. I want to be involved."
"You need to leave. Now."
"What? Why?"
"Because you just grabbed my gun and waved it around like a lunatic!"
"I said I was curious! Is curiosity a crime now?"
"Well, now you've satisfied your curiosity. Time to go." He walks to the door and opens it, gesturing for me to exit. "I'll walk you out."
"But I didn't finish getting to know everyone! I still have so many questions!"
"You got to know them plenty. More than plenty."
I look at the crew one more time. Bruno seems genuinely concerned for Santino's safety. Tommy is stunned and confused. Sal looks amused, like this is the best entertainment he's had in years. Paulie is trying desperately not to laugh.
"It was lovely meeting you all properly!" I say brightly, waving. "I hope we can do this again soon! Maybe next time I can learn about the other guns!"
"I hope we can't," Bruno mutters under his breath.
Santino guides me through the building with his hand on my lower back—firm, controlling, like he's escorting a dangerous criminal out of the premises.
Outside, the afternoon sun reflects off the old stone buildings. It's beautiful, peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos I just created.
"My car's there." I point down the narrow street.
"I'll walk you to it."
We walk in silence, my heels clicking on the cobblestones. When we reach my car, he stops, blocking my way to the driver's door.
"What was that?" he asks quietly, his dark eyes searching my face.
"What was what?"
"All of it. The questions. The gun. The complete disregard for basic safety protocols."
"I was being friendly! Getting to know your crew like you said I could!"
"That wasn't friendly. That was..." He struggles to find words. "I don't know what that was, but it wasn't friendly."
"I wanted to get to know your crew. You said I could meet them."
"I said you could meet them. Not interrogate them about murder and organized crime."
"I was making conversation! Asking about their jobs!"
"You made everyone incredibly uncomfortable. You asked about killing people, Liana."
I shrug. "Maybe they're not used to direct women. Women who ask questions."
"Direct." He leans against my car, studying me with those penetrating eyes. "That's one word for it. Why did you really come here?"
"I told you. To be part of your life. To understand your world."
"And the gun? What was that about?"
"Curiosity."
He studies my face for a long moment, and I keep my expression innocent, slightly confused about why he's so upset. Like I genuinely don't understand what I did wrong.
"You're exhausting," he says finally, shaking his head.
"Is that a compliment?"
"No. It's a statement of fact."
"Sounded like a compliment to me." I unlock my car with the key fob. "So when can I come back? Tomorrow? This weekend?"
"You can't come back."
"Why not?"
"Because you nearly gave everyone a heart attack. I need time to recover before I subject my crew to you again. They need time to process what just happened."
"How much time?"
"A week. At least. Maybe a month."
"That's forever!"
"It's not long enough." He pushes off my car, stepping back to give me space. "Go home, Liana. Please."
"Are you angry with me?" I ask, tilting my head in concern.
"I'm something. I don't know what, but I'm definitely something. Angry doesn't begin to cover it."
I slide into my car, settling into the driver's seat. "Text me later?" I ask cheerfully.
"Maybe."
"That's not a no!"
"Just go. Please. Before you find another weapon to play with."
I start the engine, watching his face through the window. He looks tired, confused. Like he's wondering what kind of woman he agreed to marry.
I pull away slowly, watching him in my rearview mirror. He's still standing there on the narrow street, hands shoved in his pockets, staring after me.
Three blocks later, I pull over into a quiet side street and text Gia, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.
Me: Phase one complete. They think I'm insane.
Gia: What did you do?
Me: Grabbed his gun. Asked about murder. The usual sabotage stuff.
Gia: You grabbed his GUN?!
Me: Safety was on. I checked first. I'm not actually crazy.
Gia: Did HE know that??
Me: Eventually.
My phone buzzes almost immediately. Santino.
Santino: Never do that again.
I smile to myself and type back. Me: Do what? :)
Santino: You know what.
Me: I really don't! You'll have to be more specific!
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. He's struggling with how to respond.
Santino: Dinner tomorrow. My place. I'm cooking. 7pm. Don't be late.
Wait. His place? He's inviting me to his home?
Me: You cook?
Santino: Yes. And you're going to sit at the table, eat what I give you, and not touch anything dangerous. Understood?
He's doubling down. I terrified him and his entire crew, and instead of canceling the engagement or running away, he's doubling down. He's inviting me deeper into his life.
This is either very good or very bad for my plan.
Me: Sounds perfect! What time again?
Santino: 7. And Liana? I mean it. Don't be late.
Me: Would I ever be late?
Santino: Yes.
I laugh out loud in the empty car, genuine amusement bubbling up.
Me: Fair point. See you at 7!
I drive home through the winding streets of Genoa, already planning what chaos I can cause in his house tomorrow. But there's something else there too, something I don't want to examine too closely or acknowledge.
He didn't run. He didn't cancel the engagement. He didn't tell me to stay away.
He invited me to his home. His personal sanctuary.
Either he's the most stubborn man alive, or...
No. Don't think about the "or." Don't go down that road.
Stick to the plan. Remember why you're doing this.
I can do this.
I have to do this. For Papa. For Gia. For our family's future.
I have to.