Page 315 of Marcello

The old man just chuckled.

Niccolo turned back to Lucia. “It’s not the tunnels I’m worried about – it’s the gunfights in a Camorra-infested mansion.”

“My grandmother’s men will protect me.”

Niccolo snorted. “We agreed to let you come along so your grandmother’s men could help us, not babysit you.”

“YOU’RE the one who insists I get babysat, motherfucker!”

The old man laughed.

Both Niccolo and Lucia turned to him and shouted at the same time, “WHAT?!”

“I like her,” the old guy said with a big grin.

“…oh. Cool,” Lucia said, like she’d changed her mind about him.

“Whether he likes you or not,” Niccolo snapped, “his opinion doesn’t count!”

“Neither does yours – not really,” Lucia retorted. She turned to Dario, who was talking quietly to Lars on the other side of the cave. “Hey, Big Bad Brother-in-law – my men don’t go anywhere I don’t go, so do I get to come along with you?”

Dario looked annoyed, but he spoke in a reasonable tone of voice. “Half your men will guard you, and the other half will go with us. You can choose which ones.”

“Thank you,” Lucia said sweetly, then turned back to Niccolo with a saccharine smile. “So I guess YOU can just go fuck yourself.”

“DARIO!” Niccolo shouted angrily.

“Not now,” Dario said as he waved him off.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice behind us. “Anybody hungry?”

It was the mole. Marcello… Romeo… whatever the fuck his name was.

He was standing in the entryway to the room, weighed down with at least ten plastic grocery bags. “I brought some food and sodas.”

“Fuck yeah,” Valentino said, and immediately headed over.

The others – Massimo, Lucia, even Adriano – quickly followed Valentino’s lead.

The mole laid down several six-packs of soda, then spread a bunch of styrofoam containers on a stone bench carved into the wall. Inside were what looked like street food: tiny pizzas, fried balls of dough stuffed with meat and cheese, and paper cones overflowing with fried calamari and shrimp.

I had to admit, it smelled delicious.

“Oh my god, that’s good,” Lucia said as she bit into one of the dough balls.

“God damn,” Valentino said as he ate one of the pizzas.

“Naples has the best street food in Italy,” the mole said proudly.

I scoffed. “I don’t know about that.”

The mole glared at me. “Okay, what city is better, then? I’m originally from Florence, so I know that’s not it.”

I didn’t have an answer. I had grown up in Montepulciano, and then I’d gone to work for the Rosolinis. Until today, I’d never been outside of Tuscany.

I was feeling extremely foolish –

When Niccolo came to the rescue.