you're the little thing, my saving grace

Chapter 12

"Vegas, what did you promise me? That you'll sit quietly in the back room and play with your robot-dog. And what are you doing?"

"Well, I'm bored there alone. I'd rather help you."

Pete lifts up his son in the arms and just doesn't know what to do. Today he was left without a handyman — the day before he had a fight with his wife and spent half the night drawning his grief in the booze. And in an hour the ordered groceries should be delivered. Yesterday, Layan — despite all Pete's desperate pleas to take little Vegas with her — left them indefinitely. According to her, "until I get settled." And today Pete had to bring the kid with him. But there is not a single waitress in the hall — Layan's partner left to visit her parents and will return only the day after tomorrow.

For the past three weeks, Pete has felt like he was sitting on a powder keg. The habitual and relatively calm rhythm of his life was disrupted. And Vegas — big Vegas, who promised to help sort everything out, no longer made itself felt.

Well, I shouldn't have naively relied on your imaginary help. After all… You're your father's son, and this is your family business. Damn it!

Pete puts little Vegas down on the floor and gently pushes him towards the door to his office, which is actually a small nook next to the back room.

The straps on his apron have loosened on his back, he wants to adjust them, but his fingers behind his back suddenly intertwine with other fingers, thin but strong. And very warm. Pete turns around and stares into the wide-smiling face of big Vegas.

"Hey. I see you need help today."

Pete is speechless. He silently allows himself to be removed from his apron, which Vegas throws over himself and deftly ties on his back.

"I'll help you with the guests now, and then with all the other stuff."

Pete clenches his fists, helping himself to recover:

"Where did you come from anyway... left, not a word from you for three weeks, and now you come back out of nowhere and run the place? What makes you think you are allowed to do that?"

Pete is not sure if Vegas understood what he meant correctly. But he just grins and, taking a stack of menus and a tablet for orders from the bar, is already heading to the tables.

Great. Everyone here does what they want. I'm standing alone and blinking like a fool.

Shaking his head, Pete finds a second apron and joins Vegas. He doesn't even know the menu, how is he going to serve the guests?

But Vegas, surprisingly, copes with his duties quite well. He even manages to earn good tips. Pete chuckles to himself: if only their guests knew that today they are being served by the son of one of the most influential mafia in their country... and his father would know who the heir is moonlighting today.

"You see, no need to worry," Vegas puts his arm around his shoulders.

"What else are you going to do?" Pete shrugs off his hand, glaring at him.

"And is this instead of 'thank you'?" Vegas purses his lips resentfully.

"I didn't ask you to help me. You imposed yourself."