𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

26

"i oughta get the sidewalk sharpened up outside of the hotel," eddie said, cutting into his wagyu steak. "this wind has blown all the fuckin' trash into the gutters."

"i thought we already hired cleaners?" sal asked. he was sat on the other side of his boss, eating his own dish of pasta puttanesca.

"yeah, we did. but they ain't doing a very good job, clearly," eddie said bitterly.

it was seven o'clock in denali's on the lower east side, the busiest time of the day for the restaurant. eddie and sal, as well as tony romano and his underboss, bill santoro, were gathered around a candle-lit table together, all of them eating luxurious dinners that people like you and i cannot afford (or even pronounce, in some cases). they were sat rather close to the front window, looking onto the street as the cars and the people passed by.

bill santoro had been the underboss of the romano family for almost a decade. he was a portly, middle-aged gentleman with abundant fat in his cheeks and his legs, but the fact that he stood at six foot one seemed to measure it all out a bit. he had a round, bulbous nose, brown almond-shaped eyes, and full lips: a scar adorned the right side of his cupid's bow, splitting all the way down to the bottom of his chin. his head was fully bald.

"how is the hotel, anyway?" tony asked, taking a sip of his red wine. it poured like blood down his throat.

"the hotel's doing great, i'm really pleased with it," eddie answered, nodding. "we've had a whole lotta people coming in, but the staff are just a bit unreliable. i need to get some new folks in — folks who know what they're doing."

tony dipped his head. "absolutely. hey, bill hasn't even seen it yet, have you, bill?"

when he spoke, bill's voice was as rough as sandpaper and as gruff as a goat. "no, i haven't. i've driven past it a few times but i ain't seen the inside."

"oh, the inside's real pretty," sal said, looking from eddie to bill. "if you call me sometime this week i'll show you around."

bill nodded, showing his interest. eddie sat up straighter in his chair as he began to finish his food. with a roll of his shoulders, he asked, "what about you, tone? how's business?"

"same old same old," tony said, cracking open a lobster leg on his plate. "i'm doin' some investment in jersey — the factories at greenville."

"looking onto staten island?" sal hummed, his mouth full. "beside lady liberty?"

"yes, those ones," tony replied. a smile shortly lit up his face. "hey, any news on that kid of yours?"

eddie looked up at him, clueless. "which one? giovanni?"

tony chuckled. "no, you idiot. chantelle."

"oh," eddie said. he quickly wiped his mouth. "well, chantelle's been busy, i've been busy. i don't get to see her much now that she's flown the nest. she tells me she's doin' some training in some kind of laboratory, looking at medicines and stuff for different mental illnesses."

tony raised his brows, lifting his wine glass off of the table. "oh, that sounds good. i'm glad she's enjoyin' her—"

suddenly, the window beside them shattered into a million pieces, the glass tumbling to the floor in shards. eddie looked up. bullets flew through the gaps. the men ducked under their table. missing them, a few of the bullets put a few of the chandeliers out, ultimately dimming the lights. shrill screams and cries of despair filled the space as people began to flee from their tables, wives in mink coats clutching their purses while their husbands in designer suits covered them, trying to divert them out of harm's way.