Feliciano had said he would be here. No, he always said he would be here. That was Feliciano's problem: he was one of those guys who would assure you a thousand times he would be on time for something, and then wander in three hours late, dope-ass grin on his face.

It was a stupid restaurant. I didn't like it. Fucking cheesy, windows, high bar stools that let your legs hang down. They try to impress you with small, fancy cups filled with lukewarm coffee.

It was the kind of place Feliciano would want to meet, and that drove me fucking crazy. They even had a candle on the table. It was a coffee place. What was this candle doing?

I unlocked my phone, and Feliciano had read my message. He hadn't responded.

"Fuckin asshole," I hissed, sending another text. I had shit to do, I had people to kill, drugs to smuggle, people to ferry, and my dear, baby brother was probably getting gelato.

I can imagine the next scene. I'm going to be home, and this fucker is going to wander in like he always does, and I'm not going to forgive him this time. We're supposed to be talking about business, not the nice flower lady, or the interesting cloud, or how—

"Excuse me?" A waiter stood awkwardly to the side.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

"I'm Antonio," the waiter said, sitting down at my table like a shit waiter. He wasn't getting a tip, that's for fucking sure.

"Uh, okay?" And he looked at me, like I was supposed to do something. I squinted at him, like maybe his motives would reveal themselves if I just tried hard enough. "Can I help you?"

And the guy just looked at me. I'm pretty sure it looked like I was confused as fuck, because I was, but this guy just kept staring, like I was the most interesting thing that he had ever seen. What the hell was I missing?

"Can I fucking help you?" I asked a little louder, just in case the guy was deaf.

Antonio smiled. "You're Lovino, right?"

Very few people know my name. Those who do are on a strictly need-to-know basis. Feliciano knew my name… Actually, I think he was the only one who knew my name. I was Romano to everyone else, and that's what peopled screamed in fear when I shot them.

A chill ran down my spine, sinking right into my stomach.

"Are you here to kill me?"

The grin faltered on the guy, and he looked at me. And then I just felt like a fucking idiot. And then this fucker laughs, because he thinks it's a joke! He waves over the waiter—the real waiter, who's not getting a tip out of spite—and orders more coffee.

I stare at the table. I hated the table. It was real wood, something that probably smelled like pine if you mashed your nose against it. No, wait, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I embarrassed? It was a legitimate fear.

I looked up, right into Antonio's eyes, and I found myself looking away.

"You're a weirdo," I said, finally looking back at him. "I'm meeting my girlfriend. Go away."

"Uh, I know your brother."

Oh, well that made sense. I crossed my arms and tilted my head, because that makes me look like a badass, and I sneer.

"So, he sent you to discuss business? Wow, what an idiot. You didn't even—I thought you were going to kill me. And don't use my name, I…"

The look of confusion was only growing. The waiter showed up and placed down the coffees. I chugged mine, because anywhere was better than those eyes. It was crap coffee, and I burned my tongue, and Antonio was still sitting across from me when I banged my cup back on the table.

"Who are you?" I asked, leaning forward and lowering my voice.

The grin flickered across his face, but it died just as fast.

"Uh, well…" He sounded Spanish. "I go to the same grocery as Feliciano. I work there, actually, I ring him out, and we started talking. I actually asked him out, but it turns out he already has a boyfriend. But, well, he mentioned that you were single, and that you were interested in going on a date and, uh…" He tapped one of his fingers against the table.

I felt a tingle in my toes. It was pretty interesting, feeling the tingle creep up my legs, seep through my stomach, and finally settle in my cheeks. I was blushing. I was on fire, because Feliciano had set me up on a fucking date, and I had accused this guy of killing me twice.

I looked back at the table. Someone needed to carve their initials into it.

"Well, glad to know Feliciano let me know," I said, because there was literally nothing else I could say. Because that mother fucker.

Antonio smiled, and he seemed to have missed the point. "He said you were very interesting. I agree."

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, nonono.

"Ha, okay, no," I said, standing up. "Look, I'm not sure what he told you, but—"

"You're very cute," Antonio continued, like he hadn't heard me. "And I thought Feliciano was cute, but you…" Antonio's eyes flicked down, once, twice.

And, oh my God, I was looking at him. Because he was cute. Brown hair, green eyes, nice—alright, nope, I can't do this. I don't do dates. I don't do dates with random men my brother decided on for me.

"You're blushing," Antonio commented.

Someone stepped on a cat's tail. After a second, I realized the noise had come from me, something made of pure shock. My mouth was open. I probably wasblushing, holy fuck. I was very silently freaking out.

"I…" Words, Lovino, words! "No."

Antonio laughed, and I wanted to sink into the ground. "No?"

"Just, no."