Page 316 of Marcello

“Palermo, Sicily is widely considered to have the best street food in all of Italy,” he said authoritatively as he popped a piece of calamari into his mouth. “Their cuisine is influenced by the various cultures that conquered them over the years: Greek, Arab, Spanish – ”

“We have all of that,” the mole said in irritation, “plus French.”

“I don’t know about Sicily,” Valentino said dubiously. “They eat a fuck-ton of anchovies.”

“Anchovies can be delicious,” Niccolo protested.

“No, they CAN’T.”

“Don’t Sicilians eat spleen as a street food?” the mole asked.

Adriano did a double take. “What the fuck?”

Lucia’s face wrinkled in disgust. “What, like fuckin’ intestines?!”

“It’s an entirely different organ,” Niccolo said.

“OH, that makes all the difference,” she said sarcastically.

“It’s supposedly delicious the way Sicilians prepare it.” Niccolo turned to Valentino. “Didn’t you try it while you were there?”

“NO. I did NOT.”

Lucia snorted. “Trust the guy who recommended the Boboli Gardens as a first date to say the best street food in Italy is fuckin’ spleen.”

The mole looked at Niccolo in shock. “You recommended the Boboli Gardens as a first date?”

“You have a problem with that?” Niccolo asked defensively.

“Yeah – that’s about the worst fuckin’ place for a first date. You’d only take a girl there if you were trying to prove how smart you were.”

Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino all roared with laughter. Even Roberto, Lars, and Dario smiled the tiniest bit.

Niccolo turned surly. “Well, where would you take her, then?” he asked the mole.

“The Farmacia di Santa Maria Novella. It’s one of the most beautiful places in all of Florence. It has incredible paintings on the ceilings, and the air smells like heaven from all the perfume. Plus, if you buy her a bottle, every time she wears it she thinks of you.”

Niccolo paused.

“…alright, you have a good point,” he admitted.

Adriano laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit you were wrong.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Niccolo snapped, “I said he had a good point.”

Dario addressed the mole. “Thank you for the food, Marcello, but there’s not enough to feed all my men. I’d like to get some more for my foot soldiers.”

“No problem,” the mole said. “I just need someone to help me bring it back.”

Dario looked at me. “Giorgio, go help him.”

I was caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Shit.

Hanging around with the mole was the last thing I wanted to do, but there was no way I could say ‘no.’ Not when the Don had just given me a direct order.