The Mafia's Undoing Chapter 8: Breaking Protocol

The restaurant Katherine had booked was not one I expected. No Michelin stars, no pretentious waiters, no overpriced wine list designed to intimidate. Instead, she had picked a small Italian restaurant in Brooklyn with checkered tablecloths and the kind of real food my grandmother would have approved.

That should have been my first clue that tonight would be different.

Katherine arrived on ti, wearing a deep burgundy gown that clung to her curves, which made coherent thoughts difficult. She fidgeted as she smoothed her hands over her hips when she approached the table that caught my eye – a movent of conscious discomfort that felt painfully real.

"I hope this is okay," she said as I stood up to pull out her chair. "I know it’s not your usual type of place."

"It’s perfect." I actually ant it. I had no desire for an evening in so eatery where half the patrons were sitting back calculating who I was dining with, calculating angles and alliances. "How did you find this place?"

"Elliot and I co here for his birthday every year. Best carbonara in the city, and the owner’s son has autism too. He makes sure Elliot always feels at ease."

The casual way she based her existence on her brother’s needs warped sothing in my chest. In my world, family ant obligation and strategy. In hers, it ant coming to the sa restaurant every year because it made soone she loved feel safe.

"Tell about him," I said as the waiter approached with water and nus. "Elliot."

Her eyes glead in a way that made her beautiful in a completely different way than physical attraction. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything"

So she explained. About how Elliot was diagnosed at six, how their parents had struggled to understand initially, but eventually beca his strongest supporters, and how he had taught himself computer programming in three languages by the age of twelve. He saw patterns that other people did not perceive and could perform complex equations in his head, but occasionally forgot als if she did not remind him.

"He’s brilliant," she said, pride evident in every word. "Columbia was his dream school. He’s going to change the world soday."

"He’s lucky to have you."

"I’m lucky to have him." She took a sip of the Chianti I’d ordered. "After our parents died, Elliot was the only thing that kept going. Gave purpose, you know? A reason to get up every morning and fight."

I understood that more than she knew. My father had assigned a purpose as well, although his was one of domination and authority, rather than love and sacrifice.

"How about you?" Katherine asked, leaning slightly forward. "You have siblings?"

"None. Just ." I hesitated over how much to say. "My mother died giving birth to . My father raised himself."

"I’m sorry." She extended her hand across the table towards , but stopped halfway as if she had changed her mind. "That must have been difficult."

"He did his best. Taught everything I knew about the business, how to be tough, how to lead." I found myself saying things I rarely say to anyone aside from family mbers. "My grandmother pretty much raised until she died when I was fifteen. She’d prepare elaborate Sunday breakfasts together, made sit down and eat regardless of what chaos was happening in my father’s world."

Katherine smiled. "Sounds like she was a very special woman."

"She was the only person who could scold my dad and live to tell of it."

The laugh that escaped Katherine was natural and spontaneous, and sothing in my chest tightened at the sound. How long had I made anyone laugh like that? Not the calculated charm I employ for business, but actual humor between two human beings, just chatting.

The food ca, and we slipped into casual conversation. She discussed my hotels, and I found myself explaining the challenges involved in conducting legitimate business while operating the family’s other interests. She didn’t flinch when I referenced the darker side of my world, but she didn’t glorify it either.

"You’re good at what you do," she said, twirling pasta around her fork. "But do you actually enjoy it?"

The question took off guard. No one had asked that before.

"I don’t need to enjoy it," I said slowly. "It’s about legacy. Responsibility. Being who your family expects you to be."

"But what about being who you want to be?"

My phone vibrated with a ssage from my father: Where are you? Victoria’s here waiting.

Irritation flickered through , followed by annoyance. I’d inford him I had business tonight. That he still arranged for Victoria to be at the family mansion was his business, not mine.

I placed my phone down and glanced at Katherine across the room, watching with those intelligent brown eyes that seed to see too much.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine." I refilled both our glasses with wine. "Just my father wondering where I am."

"Should you go?"

I should. I ought to call off this dinner, deal with Victoria, and my dad’s expectations, reminding myself that whatever this was with Katherine couldn’t go anywhere. She was right – I had commitnts, obligations that had no place in pursuing relationships with won who challenged everything my dad had taught about keeping emotions separate from business.

But gazing across the table at her, her curves outlined in burgundy, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest rather than calculation, I did not feel the need to be anywhere.

"No," I replied, reaching a decision that I couldn’t yet comprehend. "I’m exactly where I need to be."

Katherine’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked down at her plate. "Tony-"

"I know what you’re going to say, it’s a problem, and our worlds don’t cross. I am a threat you need to protect yourself from." I leaned forward across the table, and this ti I edged my hand towards hers. "And you’re probably right about it."

"Then why are we here?"

"Because for once in my life, I want sothing that doesn’t relate to business or family obligations or strategic advantage." My hand brushed against hers, and a shiver went between us. "I want to feel being with soone who sees more than my last na."

Her hand rotated, palm up, and our fingers ca together. The small action was more intimate than anything I’d felt in years.

"I see you," she whispered.

My phone vibrated again. Then again. My father wasn’t letting this go.

Katherine began to withdraw her hand. "You should probably—"

"Tell sothing." I held her hand firmly, still not ready to let her go. "If I say that coming back to you ans I will be defying what my family expects to do, breaking everything I was taught about keeping business and private life separate... Will you still want to see where it will lead?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Tony, I don’t want to cause problems between you and your family."

"That’s not what I asked."

She bit her lip, and I watched her internal debate play out across her expressive face. Finally, she squeezed my hand.

"Yes," she replied curtly. "I would."

The relief that enveloped was a warning sign. This woman was becoming important to in ways my father would definitely label as weakness. But sitting across from her with her hand in mine in a Brooklyn cafe, seeing her smile at as if I was just a man rather than a Marvin, I realized sothing that should’ve terrified more than it did.

And I didn’t care.