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“What is it?” Alessandro asks, his tone no softer now that he knows it’s me who’s calling. I thought he might be pleased to hear my voice, but it seems I was wrong.
“I, uh, Livvy is here, and she wants to take me out to lunch.”
“No.”
His refusal is so abrupt I gasp. “Why not?”
“Because I said so, Emilia.” He offers no other explanation. “I’m happy for you to spend time with my sister, but you’ll have to order in. Disobey me and there will be consequences.”
He doesn’t do me the courtesy of saying goodbye before ending the call. The man is infuriating. I hand the phone back to Olivia.
“He says we have to eat here.”
Olivia’s awkward half-smile conveys sympathy and understanding. I’m sure she’s quite used to her brothers laying down the law.
“Well, that’s okay.” She drops onto the chaise. “I know some great restaurants that deliver. What would you like?”
Though the finest cuisine New York has to offer is no doubt at Olivia’s fingertips, there’s something I’ve wanted to try ever since I was a little girl, watching American cop dramas on TV.
“A hotdog, from one of those carts.”
If Olivia finds my choice surprising, she doesn’t comment. “There’s a decent vendor a block away.”
I have no idea what distance a block is, but the way Olivia speaks makes me think it isn’t far.
“Sounds great.”
“What do you want on it?”
“On it?”
Olivia grins. “Yeah, mustard, ketchup, chili, onions, pickles?” She wrinkles her nose up. “Cheese?”
“Mustard,” I say decisively. “That’s the authentic way to eat a hotdog, right?”
“I guess.” Olivia looks over her shoulder and yells, “Jimmy!”
Before I can ask who Jimmy is, an older man in a black suit walks into the room. It takes a lot for me not to react to his horribly scarred face. All down the right side, there’s angry red markings. It looks more like burns than the clean slashes that would be left by a knife, not that I know much about it.
“Everything okay, Livvy?”
I’m surprised that his tone is not only informal, but also affectionate. Everyone I’ve met so far who works for the Volantes has been incredibly deferential.
“Yeah, can you get one of the guys to grab us a couple of hotdogs with mustard from the cart on the corner?”
“Sure thing.”
He nods in acknowledgement of my presence and leaves to fulfill Olivia’s request. When he’s gone, I sink onto the leather armchair adjacent to the chaise. I’m desperate to ask Olivia what happened to Jimmy’s face, but I don’t want to be rude. Thankfully, she predicts I’ll be curious.
“Jimmy’s my bodyguard,” Olivia explains. “He got hurt in the line of duty a few years ago. My father offered him the chance to retire early, but he’s not the type to stay home and tend his garden.”
“What happened?”
“We were attacked on the way out of my dance class.” A look of pure fury crosses Olivia’s face as she thinks about it. “Some asshole threw acid in his face and tried to grab me. Jimmy was lucky not to lose his eye.”
“But you were unharmed?”
“Yes, thanks to Jimmy.” Olivia fixes me with a stern look that’s so reminiscent of her brother, I almost smile. “I know his scars aren’t pretty to look at, but I won’t stand for people treating him differently because of them.”
