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I stared at a sliding glass door. Inside was a conference room with a long wooden table, mismatched modernist chairs, and a wall covered in inspirational slogans like “Teamwork Rules!” and “Together We’re Better!”
“Where did you find this place?” I asked.
Tanner shrugged. “Google.”
“Seriously?”
A guy with a manbun, tight brown pants, and a shirt that looked like it came straight out of a 1920’s gangster movie walked past balancing a white coffee cup on a plain white plate. He smiled and nodded as he turned the corner.
“It’s one of those workspace sharing places,” Tanner said. “WorkWith or something like that.”
“I saw the sign out front, but what made you think this was a good idea?”
He shrugged again like he didn’t understand the problem. “I needed neutral space,” he said. “Somewhere public enough that the idiots wouldn’t try to kill each other, but private enough that we could talk. Somewhere safe and secure.”
“So you went with a hipster coworking space?”
He grabbed the sliding door and pulled it open. “Come on, look at this. It’s inspirational.”
I groaned and followed him into the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down. I lingered near the door watching the hallway. A girl wearing a pink pant suit sauntered past with her nose buried in a tablet.
“These people are all going to die,” I said. “You realize that, right?”
“Oh, come on. You’re exaggerating. Anyway I’ll protect them if I have to.”
“Great. You’re the hipster hero.”
He laughed and stretched. “They’ll be here soon. Go grab some coffee if you’re worried.”
I hesitated then craned my neck. A guy in a Sum 41 tank top with spiky hair frowned at me from behind a MacBook.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just stay here and, uh, pace around, I guess.”
Tanner gestured then took out his phone and started scrolling around on it.
I paced along the far wall, my mind a mess of worry. The Leone family was supposed to show up soon, and my father promised he’d come, but I was starting to think this would all fall apart. Maybe they’d start killing each other, or maybe they’d try to kill me. Or maybe Tanner would get frustrated with everyone and start murdering. I ground my teeth and felt like my head might explode.
Tanner cleared his throat and I turned. My father stood at the glass door and scowled in at us. He pulled it open and stepped through. A large man in a black suit followed him inside and shut the door.
“Dad,” I said.
He nodded to me, but he didn’t smile or take his eyes off Tanner.
“I’m here,” he said. “Where’s the Don?”
“He’s coming,” Tanner said. “I set up separate arrival times. I figured it’d be easier that way. Avoid some awkward small talk.”
Dad grunted, looked at me, then took a seat at the table. The big guy shifted from foot to foot then stood behind my father, hands clasped in front of him, face studiously neutral.
Tanner squinted at the guy. “Do I know you?” he asked. “Were you one of the idiots that shot at me the other day?”
I flinched. The guy looked at Tanner. “I was the one that almost killed you,” he said.
Tanner laughed. “Horseshoes and hand grenades.”
“What?” Bigman frowned at him.
“Horseshoes and hand grenades,” Tanner said again.
“It’s a saying,” Dad said, sounding annoyed. “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”
“Listen, motherfuckers—” Bigman said, but Dad held up a hand.
“Shut up,” he said. “When’s the Don gonna show?”
Tanner gestured for calm. “Soon,” he said. “Why not enjoy some complimentary coffee? I hear it’s pretty good. All the guys with piercings seem to like it, anyway.”
Dad made a face and just grunted before crossing his arms over his chest.
I drifted over to Tanner and took the chair next to him. An awkward, heavy silence fell over the table. I wanted to ask my dad what happened between him and Tanner, but I already knew I didn’t want to hear any more details. Bigman kept glaring at Tanner every few seconds and I got the feeling that he was intensely uncomfortable.
Whatever Tanner did must’ve left an impression.
There were footsteps in the hall and I half stood as several men appeared outside the glass door. I recognized Dante from the cafe, but I didn’t know the others. Behind Dante stood a bald man and an old man wearing a sweater vest like he was a grade school teacher.
Dante slid open the door and held it. The bald man came in first, glaring around like he wanted to start shooting. The old man came in next, limping heavily on a cane. His face was pale and drawn, and he had bags under his eyes. He nodded to my dad and paused at the other end of the table.
“Drago Borghi,” he said.
“Luciano Leone.” Dad stood. “I’m happy you came in person.”
