Gifts for keeping_truth
List of Gifts
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Summary
The Devil laughed as the sinner was shown into the room. “John Wick,” said Santino D’Antonio. He did not rise from his chair, where he sat loose-limbed like the emperor of everything he saw instead of the dead man that he was. “When I was first told that you’d become a cop, I thought it was a joke.”
John sat in the bolted-down chair opposite Santino at the bolted-down table. He’d always found interrogation rooms strangely calming. One-way mirror, single exit, the world condensed down to him, another person, and a sparse box of a room. John liked simplicity. “Santino,” he said.
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“Fuck,” Santino said out aloud as the announcement was made over the PA. Just his fucking luck. The one time he decided to fly commercial instead of borrowing the family jet and the flight had to get fucking delayed. By another two hours. The hell was he supposed to do?
In the silence of the Private Room, his expletive echoed like a gunshot. The sole other occupant of the dining section glanced over at Santino and looked back at his food. Dour, tall man all in black. He looked vaguely familiar. A movie star, maybe? He was good-looking enough to be one, and the Private Room only admitted outbound First Class passengers. Santino took a sneaky photo and sent it to his sister, who usually cared about this kind of thing.
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“We’ve got a new neighbour,” Gianna said. She gestured at the windows. Opposite La Famiglia, a mover’s van had squeezed itself onto the narrow lane, unloading kitchen equipment.
Santino didn’t bother to look up. He was perched on a bar stool, planning the night’s menu. “We’re in a good area. Walking distance from the Duomo. The empty space wasn’t going to stay empty for long.” He checked his sister’s notes, which were scrawled onto a napkin. “We can’t do a semifreddo for the dolce.”