{ a taste of heaven in little italy }

[Shakespeare]

The uneven cobblestones were familiar under his feet as he strolled down the sidewalk, aviator sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, though his eyes flicked back and forth below them. You could never be too careful in this place. He'd reduced the amount of rings on his fingers; people were somewhat poor in this place, and he didn't really want to be mugged today. He could easily shoot them, but honestly, he wasn't in a shoot-people mood. He smiled and waved at little old ladies tending their gardens, who greeted him with a "Ciao, bello" and large, toothless grins. They'd known him since birth; his mother, an Italian, had dragged him to Little Italy every time she could get him away from his father.

Well, that, and Hugh had been carefully instructed to be very kind to those old ladies as a child. They were good sources of information.

But in his old age, Hugh had developed an astute liking to them and their spaghetti sauce, visiting them once in a while when their sons and grandsons were off being - sons.

He would've stopped now, but you see, he was on a mission. Or rather, his stomach was growling, and he really needed food without having to stop and talk about the deplorable state of affairs. So after exchanging several mangled words in Italian with them (he got points for trying), he continued on down the cobblestones, towards what was possibly his favorite restaurant - La Bella Vita, or The Good Life. It was a tiny Italian bistro set up on the corner of Hutchinson and King, run by a tinier Italian man and his tall, stately wife.

The food was the best Italian fare in the city, however, better than the stuff you paid forty bucks for downtown. It was ten dollars for a plate of pasta, wine, and dessert, and for those ten dollars, you received what his mother used to reverently call "a taste of heaven".

So, he arrived to the place, looking up at the curly white handwriting that was written on the green-and-white striped awning. It looked like your typical neighborhood restaurant. Which it was, he reminded himself. He'd often been urged to use his family's power to get them more business, but had refrained; the restaurant would lose it's charm.

He stepped inside, calling out "Ciao!" in a very English-laced accent, looking around. The place was nearly empty, his favorite time. No noisy couples screaming in Italian at eachother, no overly loud Italian businessmen discussing industry secrets at the top of their lungs; just him. Oh, and that little wizened old man who seemed to be a permanent fixture to the restaurant.

Heaven.

[Spade]

Lily looked up from her book upon hearing the ding of the obnoxious little door chime that Mr. Antolini had insisted upon installing; he had cited the fact that "all the hanky-panky downtown restaurants have them, and they've got business coming out of their keisters!"

||Whatever. It's annoying. I've got a headache. That's the last time I let Auntie take me out to dinner without warning.||

||How were you supposed to know that your mom would show up?||

||Maybe because Auntie is a dastardly, schemeing OLDER SISTER.||

||Oh. Never mind then...Oh...Look who it is.||

She stood up, stretching her limbs a bit before walking over to the pedestal that held the menus, smiling and straightening her uniform as she went.

"Hello there, Hugh. Your booth is free, right over in the coner," she grabbed a menu, though it was hardly necessary because he was here so much he probably had it memorized.

"What would you like to drink today? We just got a few new wines," she said, pulling a little note-pad out of the back-pocket of the tight, black pants that her bosses insisted she wear.

She was supposed to look professional, "just like the hanky-panky restaurants downtown," so she had an entire uniform, just to serve the inhabitants of the Little Italy in Westerleigh.

Yellow blazer, white cami, black pants, and high black heels.
A very uncomfortable uniform; but it got the job done.

She loved her bosses, she really did; but they were heading toward senile faster than her mother was.

Which was somewhere in the vicinity of lightning-speed fast.

The restaurant was perfect as it was, no fancy outfits needed, and no frills necessary; it was wonderful and cozy and fantastic all on it's own. They just couldn't see that; the low profits on the register blinding them of the charm of the restaurant.

[Shakespeare]

"Thank you, Lily." he responded genially, seating himself and steepling ring-encrusted fingers as he thought. He did, as Lily well knew, have the memorized. He went throught it in his mind, crossing off the items he wasn't in the mood for; eggplant gratinata, chicken cattchiatore... "I'll have... chicken parmagiano, light on the tomato sauce, and a side of caesar." He ordered absently, staring at his thumbnails.

Ooh, new wines? He glanced at her, then finally said, "Do tell.", his voice suave and charming as he managed to raise a single eyebrow, a smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

He was (if he dared say it) quite a wine connoiseur. Due to his family being unfairly rich (how they got said riches was unmentionable), he'd bean weaned practically on good wine. One of his earliest memories was of his rather drunk father pushing a glass of merlot into his six-year-old son's hand, insisting that he try it. Of course, at the time, the six year old had swallowed the sip he'd taken with much pain, but had declared he'd liked it. From that moment on, Hugh was allowed to drink wine at family parties, whether he liked it or not. He'd discovered wine was an acquired taste, however, and by the time he was about fifteen, he was able to discuss different vineyards and vintages with sixty year old men, and could hold his own. Ah, the wonders of having a alcoholic-on-wine father.

But anyways. He turned his attention back to the restaurant, spotting with a smile Mr. Antolini leaning out of the kitchen, tomato sauce on his nose, undoubtedly because he had heard the obnoxious little bell and wanted to make sure Lily was doing her job professionally enough.

"Mr. Anatolini is spying on you again." he remarked, a tinge of humor in his voice. The little man was quite funny. Sometimes.

[Spade]

Smirking, Lily read off the list of wines; fine whites and reds, knowing that he could name which vineyard each belonged to, hitting the nail on the head every time.

"We've got that lovely old white whine; that one that you had a few weeks ago, well Mr. Antolini's declared that no one but his favorite customer can touch it. And guess who that is?"

She knew, and he did too, that Mr. Antolini had a soft spot for both of them. He, because of his fine taste and the loving way he treated Mrs. Antolini; as an aunt-figure, or a woman worthy of matronly respect.

And herself...well she didn't really know why the old fart had hired her, but he did, and for that she was grateful.
He was just very, very nitpick-ish about the way she did things. She thought that he had OCD, but she wasn't going to say anything; the pay was too good to get fired.

"Personally," she whispered lightly, the smirk twisting into a mischevious grin, "I think he spys on me because these pants are too tight."

Shrugging, she stage-coughed and placed her pen on pad, acting as if she were asking for his order, but instead saying, "He knows full well that there is not a better waitress for this restaurant in the world. That, and I slip him eclairs when the Mrs. isn't looking."

[Shakespeare]

Hugh grinned, eyes crinkling in mirth. "I'm supposing it's me, because you wouldn't regularly insult me in such a fashion." Then he tapped the table. "So yes, I'll have a glass of that - what was it? Vieuxchateau? I know it was French..." He trailed off, motioning vaguely. He was touched by being the old man's favorite customer, even though it was rather obvious; the little man had known him since he was a baby, and hadn't ceased treating him as such since. His favorite exclamation when setting eyes on Hugh was still the same exclamation as when Hugh had been four, and hanging on to his mother's hand. Namely, "My! How big you've gotten!"

When Hugh had been four, he'd proudly puffed his chest and declared that he was a full 0.01 inches taller than the month before. Now, however, he'd smile and thank Mr. Anatolini for noticing, and would quietly take his booth, shaking his head over the old man's foolishness.

Hugh faux-gasped. "Never. You know Mr. Anatolini as well as I do. He would never do something like that." Then he grinned, settling back in his chair. "Eclairs while Harrietta isn't looking? I'm afraid I'll have to inform her." He was, most obviously, joking. Harrietta Anatolini was a force to be reckoned with when angry, and after asserting control over her slightly loopy husband for twenty-five years, anyone who undermined her authority was met with sever rage.

So everyone gave Mr. Anatolini everything he wanted behind her back. Hugh often wondered how she never noticed the old man's steadily growing waist line.

Eh. She was getting old too.


OoC://
Ack. Short. >.<

[Spade]

"I insult everyone, Mr. Cassaverdes," she said smiling and writing down his order, "You're nothing special to me."

"Mr. Antolini is an old coot and you know it," Lily whispered, before standing tall (well as tall as someone who's 5'3 can get).

She said loudly, making sure the hearing impaired Antolini could hear her, "A chicken parmagiano, light on the tomato sauce, and a side of caesar. To drink; the Bordeaux Anjou White."

She smirked at him playfully, noting that she, without the innumerable bits of useless knowledge about wine, knew what the wine was when he didn't.

It wasn't ever going to happen again, but she could savor the moment.

A smile back in place, she thanked him and turned around, walking toward the kitchen. Lily stopped where Mr. Antolini was, patting him affectionately on the hand and slipping a chocolate piece into his palm, before walking back into the kitchen to give the order to the chef.

She grabbed the wine off the display, and a glass off the holder, making sure to be gentle with both; the Antolini's were notorious for getting the most delicate glass they could find.

Taking a tray and setting the glass and bottle onto it, she maneuvered her way around an array of a chairs, stopping at Hugh's table and setting the tray down.

"Bordeaux Anjou, a fine wine reserved by Mr. Antolini, for Mr. Hugh Cassaverdes. Enjoy."

She poured the wine, and left him to his thoughts, racing to the countertop to grab her book, and seating herself in a booth in the corner; one reserved for waitors and waitresses.

[Shakespeare]

Hugh couldn't help but think twice at who Mr. Cassaverdes was. Oh, right. Him. Even though he'd been living on his own for what - five years now? To him, 'Mr. Cassaverdes' was his father. He was Hugh, or 'that darling Cassaverdes boy'. The second was usually what the old matrons called him. Whether or not they actually thought he was 'darling', he'd never know. It usually wasn't a good idea to insult his father's family. "I suppose you do." he answered lightly, nodding.

He was, quite predictably, miffed at getting the wine wrong. It was a Vieuxchateau, he was sure of it. Then she brought the bottle out, and after a quick, nearly imperceptible glance at the label, he confirmed that he was, in fact wrong.

Being quite egotistical, he simply ignored this fact (and her smirk), settling for swishing the wine around a bit in his glass and taking a sip, feeling it go down his throat. Oh, yes. This was the Anjou. "Very good." he declared at last, nodding at her - well, her back at this point, since she'd left him for the booth.

This was supposed to be his afternoon off work, but as he ate his chicken (supplied by Mr. Anatolini himself, bringing it forward like it was made of pure gold), he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to business. They needed more informants. Mr. Anatolini, the first time he had come here when he was older, had seriously informed him that he and his wife wanted no part in the "high class cose" he and his father were involved with. So he was out.

Aha!

Brilliant! Lily. Turning around in his booth to look at her critically, he nodded. Good, good. Pretty enough so that men would want her to be their waitress, but not pretty enough that they interrupted their conversations to hit on her blatantly. (Not to be mean, or anything. That was just how his mind worked.) Absolutely perfect.

"Oh, Lily. I forgot to bring a book with me. Would you like to join me?" He grinned amicably, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Whenever he smiled like that, his mother would roll her eyes and call it his 'the devil in the little bambino's clothes' smile. It was his best smile, really.

Silently, he planned out the course of action; recruit Lily, get her to deliver the information (perhaps through Mr. DeCrusa, on the corner), and voila. Instant Little Italy spy network.

Perfectsissimo.

[Spade]

She looked up from her book, scowling a bit about being torn away from it. It really was quite fascinating, but it was a hard read and once she got going it was hard to stop and start again.

Lily looked up from her book and smiled politely, "I really must finish this book for classes. Enjoy your meal, though."

Her eyes stayed on the text until the very last moment; she looked up and was going to give him an apology for being rude, but stopped short, the furrow in her brow going deeper.

He was smiling like a cheshire cat, and it looked like he had more than sating boredom on his mind.

She went through a mental list in her head; they were not romantically involved, nor did she ever give him any indications that she wanted to be, she was not part of his inner circle of friends, she was not drop-dead gorgeous. So it couldn't be anything personal.

She opened her mouth to say something, but immidiately thought better of it. Lily Williams was not an idiot; a prissy prep school had not been wasted on her mind (those fake girls in the schools were worse than some of the hookers she saw on the streets sometimes), and she could tell when someone had an alternate life other than the facade on the outside.

She saw the people who frequently sat at his table, always whispering and passing over packages. She saw the shady people he talked to at the corners downtown. He seemed like he was everywhere at once, and a person like that was not someone you would want to mess with.

So she didn't. She gave him one last glance and returned to her book.

She started when she read the chapter she had just started; "How to tell a Fake."

||What a coincidence.||

||Freakiest coincidence that I've ever seen.||

||Shush.||

And once again, she was absorbed in the book.

[Shakespeare]

Oh, shoot. No... Not good. She was supposed to say "oh, sure", then get up and smile and he would surreptiously convert her over to their side. He blinked as he was brushed off (though it did occur to him that his train of thought had made it sound like he was trying to convert her to the "dark side", from those stupid science fiction movies his thirteen-year-old cousin adored. Prepubescent boys were such uninteresting creatures. Especially since the only reason they watched said stupid science fiction movies was because the girls in them were probably more undressed than any girl they'd ever seen them before.

He'd once been sorely tempted to give the boy a pornographic movie, but he'd refrained, since his uncle would probably have been rather angry.

But anyways; he noticed the frown. Oh, shoot. He'd had a couple business dealings before in here, hadn't he? Undoubtedly she'd noticed them, and was currently thinking that she didn't want to deal with someone who dealt with the kind of people he dealt with. This was absolutely not perfect. And plus, she looked completely enthused in her book, so she'd probably be horribly annoyed if he kept talking to her.

And 'annoyed' was not the best mind set for someone whom you were currently trying to get to work for you and your family. But he honestly couldn't think of what to do? He noticed the glance. Maybe she really wanted to come over, she just wasn't, for some odd reason? He had nothing to lose by using reverse psychology. If he just turned around and ate his dinner, she might be intrigued enough to come over.

So with an exaggerated sigh, he turned back around in the booth, cutting into his chicken and placing a piece delicately in his mouth, before taking a sip of wine.

[Spade]

She rolled her shoulders, standing up to stretch a little bit; the wood booths were not all that comfortable. Glancing casually at their only customer, besides Mr. Spencer, their constant coffee monger, she wondered if he was planning to stay there all night. It was starting to get dark out.

||I'm tirreeddddd.||

||I know. -yawn-||

||Should I kick him out?||

||Ask Antolini first.||

She walked back into the kitchen, only to find the elderly man sound asleep in the chair by the stove, snoring lightly.
Smiling, she took an apron off of the hook and draped it over him.

Stepping back out into the restaurant, she noted that he was still sitting there, sort of staring into space.

Lily walked over to his booth and tapped him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention.

"Mr. Cassaverdes, would you like your check?" she asked, hoping and praying that he wouldn't stay for coffee.

||Sleeep. I need sleep.||

||You've got an exam at school tomorrow.||

||Shutup. Don't remind me.||

||Are you going to study? ||

||I did. The book, and a few notes earlier today.||

||I know that. Is that going to be good enough?||

||...You-I...someone's starting to sound like my mother.||

||Well durr. She is pretty overbearing. Did you think you were immune to the Williams Family Genes?||

||No. But I had hoped.||

[Spade]

I'll give a cookie to anyone who can name the book that the surnames Antolini, and Spencer come from. It's a classic, but it was annoying and I hated it.

I'll give you a clue: Ducks. James Castle. Phoebe 'Weatherfield' Caulfield. Those are all characters and concepts in the book.

[Lurr'n ♥]

ooc// MUAHAHA. Catcher In the Rye!

[Spade]

o.o.c.
oo0o0o. I'm v. proud of you.
Crappiest book I've ever read in my life; but I finally get to drain the useless crap it brought me out of my brain.

I had my english final today. NO MORE CATCHERRRR!!!
-is so happy-

-gives Lurr'n a cookie-

[Shakespeare]

OoC://
Catcher in the Rye was a pretty bad book. It's weird how the classics are never any good... -lesigh-
In any case, I'm sorry I haven't replied in a while. -is a lazy bitch- I've been having a lot of homework. BUT NOW, IT'S FRIDAY! -ledance-
Anywaysss...

BiC://
Hugh was shaken out of his thoughts by Lily tapping on his shoulder. He blinked up at her, not really understanding what she was saying, before nodding. "Oh yes, the check would be nice." he replied, putting a last bite of pasta in his mouth.

What was he trying to do again? There was something he was trying to do. The phone in his pocket began to buzz, so he held up a single finger, muttered 'Excuse me', and answered it. His father's deep, gravelly voice came over through the line.

"Hello, Father." he said. Other people usually stared at him when he referred to his father as 'Father', but that was just how their family worked. Most gang families worked like that; the big boss, he didn't liked being undermined, not even by his only children. Hugh had never called his father Dad, not even when he was little. Maybe 'Papa', when he was very little, but as soon as he turned two, it was always Father.

"Yes, Father, I'll get on it as soon as I can. Maybe tomorrow? I'm in Little Italy having dinner right now, so I'm going back to my apartment, and then... yeah."

His father's voice cut him off, obviously not in the mood for excuses, telling him that tomorrow was fine, but to get it done as soon as possible. Hugh nodded, and flipped the phone closed.

He turned back to Lily. "Sorry. So yeah, the check would be good." He smiled genially. "Do you need a ride back to your dorm or anything? My car's at the corner."

[Lurr'n ♥]

ooc// I have yet to take my finals, so a thousand pardons if I'm not as active as I should be for the upcoming week n' such. //

[Spade]

o.o.c.
ew@finals. Good luck. They suck.
And no biggie about the laziness. I've been pretty dead myself with all the exam crap lately.
But they're over. -does the happy dance-
i.c.
She halted her reach into her pocket when she heard his offer;

///"Do you need a ride back to your dorm or anything? My car's at the corner."///

She gave him a suspicious look; her lips tightened, her eyes narrowed and searching.
Realizing that he wasn't about to hurt her, he really had no reason, she relaxed her features and gave him a grateful tired smile.
"I'd appriciate that, but I've got to lock up and-"

||Mr. Antolini's got the late shift.||

||Oh yea...||

"Oh!" she exclaimed, placing her hand on her forehead, "I must be more exhausted than I thought. I completely forgot; Mr. Antolini is locking up tonight. He's got the late shift. I'd definitely appriciaciate a ride, then."

She left his check on the table and started walking back to the "Employee's Only," door.

"Just let me change, and I'll be right out."

Quickly, she shed her uniform and threw on her street clothes; a snug grey sweater, her most comfortable jeans, and a pair of brown sneakers.

Straightening her clothes, she walked out of the little closet-like room, and smiled at Hugh.

"I really appriciate this," she said, taking the cash he had laid down on the table by the check.

She ran the money to the register, he gave exact change again, and came back, her coat in hand.

"I'm ready when you are."

[Shakespeare]

OoC://
HAHA. Why does everyone but my school have finals or midterms this week? It's weird.

BiC://
Hugh smiled beatifically, and picking up his coat, he buttoned it up and wrapped the (most obviously imported) scarf around his neck. Warm, but fashionable still. Sometimes working with his family was a fashion show. His father was... obsessive about fashion. To the point of being creepy.

He grinned widely as she came back. "You look different." he commented, in a way that obviously assured her 'Not In A Bad Way, Of Course'. He'd never seen her without her uniform.

"I'm ready." he said, waving a useless good-bye to Mr. Antolini, the little bell jingling over his head, as he stepped out into the cold. It was dark at this point, so the sunglasses he was wearing earlier surmounted his head, where they snuggled into his floppy locks. His sleek black car (one of his greatest prides) was parked at the corner, beeping as he pressed the button on the key ring.

Bowing slightly mockingly as he held open the door for Lily, he looked around at the tiny shuttered apartments that lined the streets. Light shone through curtained windows, the profiles of families sitting down for dinner. It was nearly movie-like quality setting, especially as a couple snowflakes began drifting down lazily.

"Where's the UU Campus again?" he asked her, turning around. "It's somewhere... where?"

[Spade]

She rolled her eyes at his mock chivallry and looked around; "It's 6 blocks west of here, on 13th and Salem. Do you know where that is?"

"I usually take the subway" she shrugged, bundling herself up in a warm, wool pea-coat she had gotten as a gift earlier this year.

She stepped into the car and nodded gratefully at him before closing the door and settling in to his...really nice car.

||Dear god...he's my age and he's probably got more money than my parents...||

||Mmhmm.||

||What is this thing?! A Lambourgini?||

||Nope.||

||At least a Mercedes?||

||Nope.||

||Oh I know...a Lexus...||

||Possibly.||

||Bloody rich bastard.||

||Definitely.||

[Shakespeare]

Hugh thought for a second. Thirteenth and Salem? Oh, that was right near his sister's old agency. He'd gone there a couple times so that they could go to lunch. Of course, they had papparazzi following them around, but it was still nice to see his sister once in a while (except, of course, after one time when a picture had appeared in the tabloids of him and his sister, accusing his sister of dating a 'mystery man'. It had taken a lawsuit to convince the tabloid that he was, in fact, her sister.)

"Yeah, I know where that is. It's right near my sister's modeling agency." He grinned lopsidedly at her, getting into his car. The leather upholstery of the front seats began to heat up slightly as he turned the car on, the engine coming to life. Ah, the beauty of heated seats.

Feeling in a sort of bragging mood, and recognizing the look on her face as the 'what-the-hell-is-this-car' sort of face, he kept his eyes on the road as he pulled out of the parking place. "It's a BMW." he stated simply, doing an illegal U-turn. Then he began coasting down the street, glancing every once in a while at her.

Well, this was a perfect oppurtunity to recruit her. But he kept his face expressionless as possible.

[Spade]

She choked on her own air, cracking a smile at him.
"Your sister's in a modeling agency?" she asked incredulously, "That's rather...interesting. Does she look like you?"

||Wow. Good mind reading...things.||

||Too observational for someone /not/ in school.||

||Oh shut up.||

"What kind of work does she do?" Lily asked, looking over at him, and noting the way he quickly glanced /back/ at the road.

||Weird...||

"My...friend is a photographer for a few magazines in the area. He may know her."

[Shakespeare]

Hugh couldn't help but grin, pretending to be insulted. "Is this supposed to be an insinuation that I'm not beautiful enough to be a model?" he asked jokingly, turning smoothly onto a street. He stopped at a red light, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he glanced towards her. "No, she doesn't, actually. She has the same hair as me, I guess, but it's more curly. She's got our Mum's olive complexion, but she turned out with celery green eyes, somehow." He shrugged, moving forward as the light turned green once more.

He thought for a moment. "Umm... She does mostly magazine stuff. I think she's working on a campaign for Trada at the moment. I know she did a Panel thing last year, because I saw her picture when I was in a taxi on the interstate the other day..." He had, of course, managed to name two of the biggest designers of the day without blinking. He may have been fashionable, but brand names were beyond him. He just bought what looked nice.

"Her name's Giselle." he added, smiling. Naming his little sister 'Giselle' had been his idea; they had gone to see a ballet by that name when his mother had been pregnant, and the main dancer had given him a piece of candy. He'd been in love with the name ever since. "He might've. I don't think she's that famous, though."

Once again, showing his complete naivete about his sister's fame. To him, papparazzi was just something that followed all models around.

[Spade]

"Oh gosh!" she exclaimed, a broad smile on her face, "Charlie does all kinds of stuff. I know he's mentioned the name Giselle before."

She wracked her brain for a face to put to the name, using his description to help.

"Did she do the scarf ads for Gersace and Hades a few weeks ago?"

o.o.c.
Ew@ short post.

[Shakespeare]

Hugh grinned widely. "Nice to know." he said, smiling wryly as he turned onto the next street. Then he thought for a second, frowning. He had no idea what his sister did. But he did remember something about that during his last phone call with his mom. "Oh, yeah, Giselle did do that. I remember because my mum told me that Giselle told her that this one male model was groping her." He blinked slightly, then shrugged. "And apparently, this is news because there aren't any straight male models."

Clearly not understanding the concept, he could see the UU campus from a distance. Which was not particularly good for the point why he drove her back to her dorm in the first place. "Hey, how much does Mr. Antolini pay you?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road as the car rode up the hill towards the university. "If you ever need another job, I could help you out." He turned to her to smile in a way that he hoped conveyed the message 'no, I'm not trying to turn you into a prostitute'.

[Spade]

She placed her hand over her eyes and laughed lightly, "Oh god, I remember that. Charlie told me all about it. He was so upset about it, he almost fired the guy."

She smiled slightly and motioned toward the campus, "Home sweet home."

"I really don't think it's any of your business; however much he pays me is between Mr. Antolini and myself. But I can assure you that it's not as much as I need to cover tuition."

Her tone was cool, but curious as she shot as sideways glance at him.
Turning completely, she gave him a head on stare, the one she practiced for psych. classes, and stared him down.

"You've been acting strange all night, and this just proves it. Hugh Cassaverdes, you are going to tell me what's going on. Right. Now."
Her tone of voice left no room for argument, and anyone who knew about a red-head's tendancy to be hot-headed would know to back off, or explain themselves.

The stereotype was rather demeaning, but true nonetheless.

Her cheeks were flushed, the freckles that much more apparent, and her icy blue eyes were narrowed at him.

This was the face that said, "If you lie to me I'll be forced to break your face."

[Shakespeare]

Hugh chuckled vaguely, asked "Which one is your dorm?", then got scared. Now, he could shoot people without blinking an eye, calmly inform people that he was about to kill them, but he had been bred with a fear of an angry woman. Due to his mother's habit of throwing casseroles and his father when she was angry (however powerful Jackson Cassaverdes was, he could not protect himself against his wife).

So he pulled over to the side of the road, turning the car off.

"Fine, you want the truth?" he asked, letting his hands drop to his thighs. "I'm planning on recruiting you to spy on Mr. Antolini's customers for my family, so that we can further our reaches into Little Italy." He smiled tightly. "That's the truth."