“No angel on his shoulder, huh?”
“Adrian’s as close as there is.”
You’re pretty fucked if the angel on your shoulder is a hardened killer, I guess.
“So, actually, I guess if I had to eliminate one, it would be Dante, not Mateo. With Dante out of the way, Adrian would be the only person Mateo would bounce ideas off of, and Adrian would discourage the truly evil things my brothers get into.”
“It’s so weird the way your family is organized,” I tell her, shaking my head.
“I don’t think it’s too different from yours. I mean, in fairness, I have no idea how the power hierarchy goes outside of the top guys, but Mateo’s the boss, Dante’s the underboss—well, technically our dad is still the boss, I guess, but he’s a figurehead.”
“Right, Mateo runs everything like the boss. Then Dante is essentially my position, but he seems to trust Adrian a lot more.”
“No question,” she says, taking a drink. “Adrian is more loyal. Mateo knows he has to keep an eye on Dante. It’s not unfathomable that he’d betray Mateo to take his seat. It’s what Mateo would do.”
I shake my head. “Ambitious bastards.”
At least this makes her smile. “Yeah, they’re the worst. Joey and Alec are a lot more laidback. I prefer the younger brothers to the older ones.”
“It does seem like the kids got less fucked up as he moved on from one woman to the next. Luciana was crazy. Mateo and Dante are psychopaths. Obviously you’re an angel.”
Grinning, she says, “Clearly. I’m cut from the exact same cloth, though. Their mom was my mom. Alec and Joey have different moms, but somehow I’m grouped together with the absolute worst batch.”
“Are you secretly a psychopath?” I joke.
She sighs heavily, as if caught. “Damn, I thought I had the wool pulled far enough over your eyes. I’m actually the head of the organ harvesting department. You were my mark. I was just about to suggest we head back to the hotel so my shady assistant could help me steal your kidney.”
I put a hand over my heart. “You were going to let me keep one? Aw, see, you’re not so bad.”
Francesca grins, sipping her cocktail. “Okay, I’ve made you ask the last two. I’m going to give you a really good one.”
Rubbing my hands together with exaggerated anticipation, I tell her, “I’m ready.”
“Okay. You’re married. You had to go on a trip without your wife, a business trip to Italy or something.”
I nod. “Okay, sounds legit.”
“On the way home, your plane crashes. Everybody dies—everyone but you and one other person, a woman. Let’s call her Cynthia.”
“Jesus, this got dark fast.”
“So you and Cynthia make it to shore on a desert island. At first you think, hey, someone will come find us. We’ll be saved and we can go home to our respective spouses. Only no one comes. A whole year passes.”
“Is there a calendar? How do I know a year passed?”
Shrugging, she says, “I don’t know, Cynthia keeps track on a cave wall or something.”
“Cynthia seems very organized. Okay, continue.”
“So, after a year on this island together, you and Cynthia have grown close. You’re the only people left in your world, after all.”
“I hate where this is heading,” I inform her.
Grinning, she says with relish, “So, you and Cynthia hook up.”
“Come on, island Salvatore. What the fuck.”
This makes her giggle, and she takes another sip of her drink. It’s worth my hypothetical self being a total douche if it makes her laugh. “Then a week after you have sex with Cynthia, help arrives out of nowhere to rescue you.”
“That must’ve been some hot sex,” I remark.
“Fate is cruel,” she informs me. “Now you come home to your wife and Cynthia goes home to her husband. The question is: do you tell your wife the truth about the brief affair you had in this scenario where you thought there was no chance of ever seeing her again, or do you keep it to yourself and try to move on with your life?”
“Jeeze, you’re killing me at my own game here,” I tell her.
Her eyes dance with amusement as she sips her cocktail. “Which is it, island Salvatore?”
“Well, my answer’s gonna sound like a total cop-out.”
She rolls her eyes. “You can’t say you wouldn’t cheat. I’ll never believe that.”
“But I really wouldn’t. Did I lose both my hands in this accident? Why can’t I just jerk off and not cheat on my wife?”
“It’s not just about sex; it’s more about the emotional connection.”
“I can have emotional connections without fucking. Look at us—you haven’t let me do more than kiss you, and I’m pulling out all the stops. I wouldn’t cheat on my wife. Whether I’m a handless motherfucker or not, I just couldn’t do it.”
“Fine, you don’t love your wife,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It was a marriage of convenience. Does that make it easier?”