My insides turn to ice, but I don’t stop wiping out the roasting pan, and I won’t stop until my guts thaw. That may never happen. I may be a robot forever.

Is this the death warrant? I can barely keep my legs under me, much less think around corners.

“We’ll see.” I won’t commit to acquiescence or show resistance.

“You will. See, I love your brother and all.” He leans on the counter next to me. Micro drops of spit fly from his lips when he talks… and the sweetness of the sauce has taken the leash off the boss. “But he’s a little… you know… acts hard but inside, he’s soft. Like a little girl baby. And like I said, I love the guy, but Sergio’s the winning bet. He’s like a soft funny guy on the outside, but on the inside? Mah-ron.” He shakes his hand as if he just burned it. “Like the bear in that DiCaprio movie I let you watch. What was it called, babe?”

“The Revenant?” Denise replies.

“What kinda title is that? Shoulda been called ‘Bear Fucking Up a Guy,’ right?”

“It’s true,” Denise agrees. “That bear wasn’t giving up.”

“On DiCaprio’s damn spine, he wasn’t giving up. So, like I was saying, Agosti’s the bet. He really can’t lose, as long as he hooks you, which he’s gonna do, because all it takes is that fucker in the basement getting out of the way. Then boom, done. And I made the bet early, so I’m in. Boom!” He raises his hands. “He takes his shot! He scores! Marco Caliveri, right hand man. Calling shots and connecting dots.”

He’ll go on all night, and I should let him just talk and talk until he says one thing too many. But I can’t smile and nod. Not while my insides are vibrating with terror.

“Don’t count your chickens.”

“Who’s a chicken? Bok-bok-bok!”

He’s drunker than I thought. Denise doesn’t seem scared of the wild chaos he’s exhibiting, so I don’t have to be either.

“Dario Lucari’s survived a lot. He may survive this.” I try to sound casual. Marco’s too drunk for nuance anyway.

“Cool, then. Let him. Massimo’s gonna have no choice but to annul that fucked up marriage you got. Sergio’s got cold steel balls, that guy. Your brother’s gonna run like a bok-bok-bok, or he’s gonna get his head cut off like one.”

I don’t care how drunk he is, he can’t talk about Massimo like that.

“Honey,” Denise chirps, “what inning is it?”

“Oh, yeah! Let me check.”