Page 203 of Dark Angel
“È vero,” Elsa said. “It’s true.”
“Well, Mrs. Santini, I love my job, so your secret is definitely safe with me.” With a smile, Tara led them through the bustling restaurant and over to the owner’s horseshoe booth, tucked in the back corner. After leaving two menus, she smiled at Gabriel. “Always a pleasure.”
Elsa sat, then slid to the center. Gabriel sat beside her with his back against the wall.
“She has a crush on you,” Elsa said as she pushed aside the menu.
“I know,” he said.
“What are you doing about it?”
“Nothing.”
The server appeared, said hello to them both. Elsa ordered a coffee, Gabriel a sparkling water.
“Mrs. Santini, would you like the chef to prepare your lunch special?”
“That would be fine,” Elsa said as he collected her menu.
“Mr. G, what about you?”
Gabriel had no appetite. He didn’t like that Halston was without her personal phone. He had no way of contacting her. He didn’t like that after last night’s assassination attempt, she’d gone to the embassy. But she’d been determined to learn why today—January 8th—was so damn important to Bulgrov and Petrov.
“Caprese salad,” he said.
After the waiter left, Elsa said, “Tomato slices and mozzarella? That’s not enough for you.” She held his gaze. “What’s wrong, Gabriel?”
“It’s all good.”
“You and Carrera are theworstliars. Luciano could fool me. Greystone and Teddy never told lies… at least not to me. But I could always tell when you and Carrera were telling me tall tales. Racconta alla nonna cosa c'è che non va.”Tell grandmother what’s wrong.
The waiter returned with Elsa’s coffee and Gabriel’s water. “Excuse me, but the chef said the appetizer isn’t going to fill you, Mr. G, so he’s doubling Mrs. Santini’s order. I’ve been told to bring an extra plate.” The server swallowed. “Please don’t shoot the messenger, but he also said—and I quote— ‘Mr. Gabriel is a guest today. He isnotwelcome in my kitchen.”
That made Gabriel laugh. “Tell him I’m coming back there just to give him hell.”
“Oh, boy,” said the server before scurrying off.
“Just like my Luca,” Elsa said. “Your grandfather terrified everyone who worked for him. Even your father was scared of him, but not you. You were the only one who would crawl on his lap and talk to him.”
“That’s because I didn’t work for him.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” Elsa said, correcting him. “When you were three, he sent you to deliver a message. That was the beginning of your career in Cosa Nostra. First, messages to the enemy. I begged him not to send you, but he’d always say, ‘They won’t gun down a three-year-old, Elsa.”
Gabriel laughed. “I remember when I was six, he gave me a duffle bag with stacks of cash. I had to deliver it to someone, but I always wondered if it was a test to see if I’d take any.”
“Did you?”
“No. I admired him. I remember, even back then, I’d watch him, learn from him. Dad too, but their approaches were very different.”
“Who did you favor?”
“Luca,” he said. “Nonno was the real deal.”
Her eyes grew moist and she got busy sipping the coffee. He put his arm around her small shoulder. “You miss him.”
“So much.” She removed her glasses, dabbed the runaway tear with her cloth napkin. “You asked me to lunch, Gabriel. Why?”
“Because I love you, Elsa. I live in Italy and don’t get to spend time with you.”
