“What did you say to Marcelle?” he chuckles. “The man looks like he’s about to s**t his golden pantsright in front of everybody.”
“Nothing he liked,” I reply darkly.
We approach the bar. “Whiskey,” I say to the bartender. “Make it a double.”
“Bourbon for me,” Dante says. He clambers on one of the stools and swivels towards me. “It’s been aminute, cousin.”
The bartender, Sampson, sets out drinks down in front of us, his eyes scanning the room in theprocess.
I’ve brought him in from one of my restaurants for the night. He’s a long-tenured part of the Family, sohe’s here pulling double duty as bartender and security.
If any of the partiers gets out of hand, he’ll put them back in line quickly and efficiently.
On top of that, I’ve got a security detail stationed around
