Chapter 2 - The Lemon Tree Conspire
Ten minutes earlier, behind the dense, artificial foliage of a potted lemon tree, the atmosphere was considerably less composed.
"She saw us, Carmine. I told you the glasses were too shiny," Lucia whispered fiercely, her small fingers clutching the leather menu so hard her knuckles turned white. Her oversized pink heart-shaped sunglasses slid down the bridge of her nose, revealing wide, panicked brown eyes.
Carmine, six-foot-two, weighing two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle and loyalty, adjusted the itchy theatrical mustache glued to his upper lip. He looked down at the child with the profound despair of a man who had survived three prison riots in Sicily but was currently losing a psychological war to an elementary school student.
"Kid, my mustache is falling off," Carmine hissed back, his voice a deep rumble disguised as a stage whisper. "And my menu has been upside down since the soup course. Do you know how hard it is to pretend to read Italian recipes when the upside-down pictures of osso buco are staring at you like they’re judging your life choices?"
"Shh! If we don't move, we don't exist," Lucia insisted, crouching lower in her booth. Her blue school cardigan snagged on a plastic lemon, pulling her back into reality. "Dad hasn't stood up yet. That means negotiations are ongoing. If he yells, we run for the kitchen exit."
"Your father doesn't yell, Lucia. He just gets very quiet, and then people start disappearing into shipping containers," Carmine reminded her, though he peeked around the leaves anyway.
From their vantage point, they could see the back of Lorenzo’s broad shoulders. The mafia boss sat upright, frozen in place as June Hale leaned forward, her red hair catching the light like liquid copper. Carmine watched as June gestured toward their table without even turning around, her voice carrying just enough across the ambient restaurant noise for them to catch fragments.
"She's laughing at us," Lucia groaned, burying her face in the menu. "We're ruined. I'm going to have to change my name, move to Maine, and become a professional lobster fisher."
"Maine is cold, kid. And the lobsters pinch," Carmine muttered, swatting at a loose corner of his fake mustache as it threatened to detach completely. "Besides, look at the boss. Does he look like he’s about to execute someone?"
Lucia peered through her pink glasses again. Lorenzo hadn't drawn his weapon. He hadn't signaled for backup. Instead, he was looking at June with an expression that Carmine had only ever seen twice before: once when Lucia took her first steps, and once when he successfully acquired the port authority contracts back in '19. It was an expression of absolute, defenseless capitulation.
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"He looks... stunned," Lucia whispered, her scientific curiosity momentarily overcoming her terror. "Do you think she used a mind-control spell?"
"No," Carmine sighed, finally letting the mustache peel off his skin and tossing it onto the bread plate. "I think she just called his bluff. And honestly? It’s about time someone did."
