Page 18 of Forced Vows

"Thank you, I will have a cup. Two lumps of sugar. No milk." Big Sal watches me like he's measuring my every movement against a ruler in his head.

I do not roll my eyes. Go me.

I pour the consigliere's coffee, doctor it and put it down on the table near him. His eyes narrow, like it offends him I didn't pass it directly to him.

Oh, well. I guess that's one ding against me.

"Sit down, Róise. My brother and I are capable of pouring our own coffee." Miceli casts an irritated glance at Big Sal De Luca.

The older man stares back blandly.

Miceli pours him and his brother cups of coffee, putting nothing in either. I suppress a shudder of revulsion. You cannot convince me that coffee without flavored syrup and oatmilk (other milk will do in a pinch) is meant for human consumption.

Black coffee is the worst.

"Do you want something cold to drink?" Miceli asks me.

I start to shake my head, but my throat is suddenly parched and I swivel so I'm nodding. "Yes, thank you."

"What would you like?"

To leave? To go somewhere private for five minutes to process the fact this is the man I had sex with two months ago?

Not happening. "Water is fine."

Miceli grabs his phone and sends a text, putting it back in his jacket before sitting down again. His thigh brushes mine and I jump.

Good thing I wasn't holding coffee, isn't it?

The don crosses one ankle over his knee and takes a sip of the unappealing coffee. "Your uncle tells us you are studying theater, Róise."

"Yes."

"You went to Portland to take an acting seminar a couple of months ago." The don's dark gaze penetrates so I feel like he's reading my mind.

He can't though. Right? Right.

No mind reading.

Miceli tenses beside me. His arm shifting so it lands softly over my shoulders. Is he trying to warn me not to say anything?

He doesn't need to worry. I'm not about to say anything about my wild night of freedom in front of my uncle.

"Uh, yes."

"Miceli was in Portland at the same time I believe. But you wouldn't have run into each other."

Something garbled comes out of my mouth that is supposed to be agreement.

"I spent the night I was there at the club and then went back to my hotel." Miceli's words sound like an agreement.

If you're his brother, that is.

To me, they sound like a taunt.

"Um…" I cast around wildly inside my head for something to say to change the subject, usually my specialty.

Then a woman arrives with a Karafe of water and glasses on a tray. She transfers them to the larger tray on the table and leaves without a word.

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