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“Eh.” Giuseppe gestured with his hand. “These boys today. No sense of their culture or history. They don’t even learn the language.”

Nico thought of Sofia and some of his soldati who couldn’t speak or understand Italian. A tragedy. He should speak it exclusively to help them learn. “Che peccato,” he said, declaring it a shame.

“Sì, sì,” the old men all agreed. “Che peccato.”

The game began. They allowed Nico, as their guest, to throw the pallino. Then colored bocce balls were divided and they flipped a coin to see which team went first. Nico and Francesco lost the flip, so they would go second.

They took turns rolling the balls along the court, trying to get as close to the pallino as possible without going out of bounds. The talk continued in Italian, with the old men ribbing Nico for his poor playing. Bennett made teasing comments in English, as well, so Nico was under siege in two languages. Surprisingly, he wasn’t mad about it. He was actually having a good time.

“Dai!” he said, throwing up his hands as his ball ended up out of bounds. “Non vale!” No fair!

“You think we cheat, Nicolino?” Vittorio asked slyly.

It had been ages since an older relative had used the diminutive of his name, and it sent a wave of fondness through Nico. He pinched his fingers and shook them. “This must be true, eh? How else to explain my rolls if not for a slanted floor?”

The old men all laughed. “You are terrible at bocce,” Giuseppe declared. “That is how I would explain it.”

The points were eventually tallied and Nico’s team was the loser. “I will be better next game,” he promised Francesco.

His partner grinned, showing off a mouth missing several teeth. “You must learn finesse. You throw too hard. Now, you should go fetch us all drinks.”

Nico’s eyebrows went up before he could prevent it. When was the last time he’d been ordered to fetch something? Not for ages. Even before he was the boss, he was the heir, the future of the family. Men had been getting him whatever he wanted for three decades. But no one here knew him as anyone other than Mr. Mancuso. “Why, because I lost?”

“Because you have two legs that work and a strong back. Vai, vai!”

Nico put his palms up and went over to the bar. Bennett joined him there. “Wow, you are terrible at this.”

Pointing a finger at the other man, Nico said, “Stop enjoying my failings.”

“How can I not? Other than skating, I thought you could do everything perfectly.”

“The important things, yes. Would you like me to list them in front of these nice old men?”

That wiped the smug expression off Verreault’s face. “God, no. You’d shock them to death.”

Nico examined the old liquor bottles. Most were cheap and old, brands he didn’t recognize. He picked the one he knew was high-quality and poured five glasses. “You think these men have never had sex?”

“Oh, you meant . . . ” Bennett shook his head. “I thought you meant, you know, other things you do well. But yes, I think the things we do would shock them.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Bennett took three of the full glasses. “Let’s not test it, okay?”

Nico came around the bar with the remaining two glasses. “How did you find this place?”

“It’s called the internet, Marzano.”

“Smartass. You will pay for that later.”

CHAPTER 23

The games continued and Bennett watched as Nico charmed the old men. They mostly spoke Italian, which meant Bennett couldn’t understand what was being said, but he didn’t need to. He could tell the context by Nico’s expressions—the celebrations, the ribbing. Bennett had participated in sports all his life. He understood the patterns of it, whether it was sticks on ice or balls on worn turf, and he knew when someone was enjoying it.

Nico was enjoying it.

At one point Nico’s driver, the cousin who’d been in the penthouse in Chicago, came in to check on things. He watched Nico for several minutes, then nodded once at Bennett and left. It felt like a tacit form of approval, which Bennett didn’t need but somehow appreciated all the same.

By the third game, Nico had honed his skills, began competing and making impossible shots. Bennett couldn’t help but smile, both impressed and unsurprised. Nico was incredibly clever, so it stood to reason that he would figure out a strategy to win. As one hour turned into two, Bennett busied himself with bringing drinks and just observing. While he wasn’t participating, he never felt excluded. Nico sent him confident grins and smug smiles—even a wink once when he won the game on the very last roll.