But her smile fades, and I see concern on her face. “Bruno... my god, where have you been all these years? Have you been safe? Do... do you know those guys that were here earlier? How are you even still in town, I--”
“Serena,” I cut her off gently, putting two hands on her shoulders. I feel her instinctively melt in my hands, shoulders relaxing immediately. I never believed her when she told me I have a calming presence, but it’s true for her, at least. “Serena, you’ve had a terrible day thanks to some terrible men. You don’t need more things to trouble yourself. Not today, at least.” I return her smile as those doe-eyes look up at me. “But I do think you could stand to get out of here and get a drink. Why don’t we go get something?”
A smile slowly creeps back over her pretty face. After a moment’s hesitation, she says, “I think I’d like that. Yeah.”
“N ice ride,” she says as she climbs into the passenger’s seat of my black company sedan. “Nicer than that beat-up old pickup I remember.”
I smile as she shuts the door and I pull out onto the road.
A lot of baggage comes with this car, Serena.
Still, it feels good to make her happy. I shift up through the gears and start tearing down the roads we’ve both grown up around.
“So,” she says after a moment, “got anywhere in mind?”
“Well,” I half-laugh, “the places I usually go, I don’t think you’d find the most relaxing.”
She smiles. “Still running with the old crowd, huh?”
“Something like that,” I say. The only place that comes to mind is a dive that some of the rougher Italian crowd haunts. It’s dingy, falling apart, and doesn’t have anything you could call service, but it’s been my place for a while. It’s got a homey feel to it. But just because it’s homey doesn’t mean it’s the place I’d take someone shaken-up to calm down.
“I’ve got somewhere you’d like, though,” I say, remembering somewhere... cozy. It’s a mob-run place, and while it’s a little closer to work than I’d like to bring her, it’s somewhere I know is safe.
I follow the roads to a place that I’m not sure I’d call a hotel, exactly, judging by the outside. It’s an older building, but people have taken care of it over the years. Good people. As good as you find in this business.
“Room With A View?” I hear Serena say as we pull up on the side of the road and climb out of the car.
“I haven’t been here in a long time, but I remember it being a good place. I’m sure it doesn’t look like much from the outside, but-”
“Are you kidding?” she laughs, a bright smile on her face, crossing the street with me and looking at me as if I’m unreal. “I totally know this place, come on!"
I blink in surprise as she runs ahead of me to the door, but I follow. She’s really been getting around, hasn’t she?
The interior is all wood—and good wood, at that. It’s an old building. A few candles are burning on the tables, and the windows are just dark enough to make the whole place feel cozy. Past the tables and the bar, I see a set of stairs leading up to the next floor, to what I assume are a few rooms. It can’t be many. The place is tiny, and it looks like most of the people here are here for the drinks.
There’s a woman with light brown skin and dark, curly hair behind the bar, and her eyes light up at the sight of Serena.
“Hey girl, you didn’t tell me you were coming over!” she says, coming around to cross the floor and hug Serena around the neck. Even as she does though, she gives me a suspicious look, eyeing me like a judge. “Who’s your tall friend?”
I crack a smile at the protective edge in her voice.
“It was kind of a last minute thing,” she says, breaking the hug and turning to me. “I’ll explain later. Rafaela, this is Bruno. He’s... an old friend,” she introduces me with an anxious smile, and I watch Rafaela’s eyebrows go up in understanding as she glances at me. “Bruno, this is Rafaela. She runs this place,” she adds with a wink. Rafaela rolls her eyes.
“Co-owns. Nico’s around here somewhere. I’ll have him come get your orders. I’m... guessing you two want a table?” she asks, giving Serena a curious look. Serena rolls her eyes, holding back a grin.
“That’d be great,” Serena says, “thanks.” Rafaela watches us as we head to a quaint little table by the window, surprise written all over her face. Serena must not bring guys through here very much.
I have to be careful as I slide into the tiny seat. The table’s a little low, so I put my legs out to the side as I awkwardly fit my way in. Serena giggles as she watches me, and I grin back.
“Rafaela and I go way back,” she says once we’re situated. “She’s like, my best friend. I wouldn’t have survived college without her.”
“Sounds like she keeps an eye out for you,” I say.
“Yeah, she can be like that. Kind of like a big sister, too. She likes putting that Psych degree to use.”
A man with his sleeves rolled up approaches the table, looking at both of us with a warm smile. This one, I recognize, and we give each other a knowing nod.
His name is Nico Tosetti, and he’s what we call an associate. One of us. He must be the boyfriend Rafaela mentioned. I’ve crossed paths with him once or twice, but he’s small potatoes—which is a good thing to be, in this business. He’s a tall, goofy-looking guy, and he’s got a good heart. He doesn’t need to be tangled up in this business too deep.
“Bruno,” he says with a smile, “didn’t think I’d see you around here.”
“You know each other?” Serena asks, looking surprised.
“Yeah, we’ve met,” I say, clapping hands with the guy. “Didn’t know this was your place.”
“Me and Rafaela,” he says with a nod back to the bartender. “They said running a bar would be a nightmare, but between the two of us, it’s the dream,” he says with a boyish smile.
Probably a hell of a lot better than enforcement on the south side of town, I think, and I give him a nod.
“So, what can I get you two?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips. I make eye contact with Serena before I speak.
“Got any Campari back there?”
“Of course.”
“How about a couple Americanos, then? Hold the Vermouth.”
“So...just Campari and soda water?”
“That’s right.”
Nico nods with a smile before darting off, and I catch Serena grinning at me across the table.
“Bastard Americanos, huh?” she asks, and I feel a grin spread across my face. An Americano in this case isn’t the coffee—it’s a cocktail with Campari, a little Vermouth, and soda water. Back in the day, when we were younger, I’d find ways to sneak a bottle of Campari every now and then, but I never bothered with the Vermouth. So, I called them ‘bastard’ Americanos.
That was also because I was a teenager still learning English, and I’d just learned the word ‘bastard.’
“I’m surprised you remembered,” I say.
“‘An Americano for my Americana?’ How could I forget that?” she says, and I cover my face with a massive hand.