Author's notes: Well, I expect a full-fledged Hate Club for Lucas after this one...which leads into a game called Mean Tweets. Given that everyone's in school or working, the due date for the game is SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15 AT 11:59 PM EASTERN.

Here are the rules:
If you want to express your ... dissatisfaction at Lucas/Waluigi (or alternatively admiration), you can do so in 280 characters in your language. However, here is what you CANNOT do:
1) Refer to the plot or main characters DIRECTLY, i.e., "What you did to Luigi/Mario/Miles sucks!"
2) Use EXTREMELY foul language or ethnic slurs. Twitter rules. If desired, you can call him a pig. That's legal, as long as you don't refer to the characters directly.
3) You may only use 280 characters maximum and ONE tweet.

Please send me questions if this is confusing and review!


Chapter 26: The Three-Body Problem

"Holy shit!" Luigi heard himself yell as Daisy's footfalls rapidly approached their bedroom.

The auburn-haired woman skidded to a stop just outside of the doorframe and entered, putting a hand on his bare shoulder. "Luigi, what's wrong?"

Wordlessly, he tilted the iPhone to show her both the title and text of the news story. Her amber-colored eyes widened and she muttered a few swear words in both Portuguese and Judeo-Spanish. "You've … You've got to be kidding me!" she hissed.

Still in shock, Luigi sat down on the edge of the messed-up bed, staring down at the floor. Daisy followed his example, taking the space next to him. They stayed like that for several minutes, with the woman interlacing her left hand with his right. He suddenly looked up at her, his blue eyes laced with satisfaction, shock, and fear. "Daisy," he finally spoke in a small voice, "I … I don't know what to say or how to feel. I mean, Slaughter was a prick, and I'm not sorry that he got his. It came fuckin' twelve years too late. But on the other hand, I feel so …" He swallowed heavily and avoided her patient, yet penetrating gaze, "I feel so ashamed. I think I'm responsible."

"Luigi, sweetie, how could you be responsible? He was a pig!"

"My family. While you were in Africa, and even slightly before that, I found some things out about them." The plumber gazed at her uncertainly and sighed. "It's, um, a long story. Very goddamned convoluted, and frankly, I'm not sure that you'll want to be with me once I tell you. But you're owed a choice. I just don't know whether to tell you now or tomorrow. You're still jet-lagged, and I don't want to add to it."

Daisy nodded, her fingers still intertwined with his. "I'd rather know now, if only because it's causing you … anxiety. You haven't eaten, love. Eat, then we'll talk. But whatever you say, it won't cause me to leave. Your family's your family; you are you." She slowly rose from the bed and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon, mangiamo." Unable to resist food or an Italian-speaking Daisy, Luigi abided, allowing her to lead him back to the kitchen.

They ate their cheese and hors d'oeuvres in near silence, with Daisy finishing before Luigi, whose appetite had become ravenous from housework, anxiety, and lovemaking. As she was only able to take a quick shower prior to her departure, she was eager to try out that jacuzzi that her plumber had mentioned on the phone. Whispering into his ear an invitation to join her in the bathroom ensuite, she winked sexily and went to prepare the bath. Fifteen minutes later, Luigi was laying against Daisy's soft body in the hot, bubbly water, her legs wrapped around his torso. He exhaled contentedly at the dimmed lights and the feel of her bosom and lips against him. One of her hands fiddled with the small gold chain and medallion around his neck.

"I've never asked before," she murmured. "Is this a Catholic symbol of some sort?"

His fingers reached up to touch the long-forgotten pendant. "I, uh, well … Like many, if not most, New York Italians, I'm a lapsed Catholic. Yeah, I had communion and confirmation, but they were more of rites of passage. I got this for my confirmation when I was fourteen. It was a year before my father died. So we have this tradition – we choose our saint's name, the person that you want to emulate. Well, my middle name's Gabriele, after my mother, Gabriella. My saint's name is Isidoro, after Isidor of Seville who is the patron of computer science, robotics, and such. He, uh," the plumber sneaked an apologetic glance at his girlfriend who was still examining the medallion, "unfortunately, he didn't have a high opinion of Jews. I found that out later. The Catholic Church isn't exactly transparent about discrimination. Anyway, it really pissed off Uncle Joe because he wanted me to choose Salvatore or Saint Vincent."

She hummed, moving her fingers to stroke some of the hairs on his chest. "Let me guess – after your other uncle and the patron saint of plumbing?"

"You got it!" he sarcastically replied. "Mario chose Vincent, so he's Mario Giuseppe Vincenzo. But that apparently wasn't good enough for Giuseppe Masciarelli. My family's pretty fucked up, cat-face."

"Your uncles didn't seem that bad when I met them, sweetie. I mean, yeah, Giuseppe was the quintessential patriarch, very much like a Spanish-Jewish father, actually."

He turned to her with a teasing twitch of his lips. "Are you saying that your … Papai is like Giuseppe?"

Daisy bobbed her head side to side. "Sort of. Brazilian or Portuguese fathers can be quite territorial, much like Italian ones. But Jewish fathers take it to a new level, believe me. And he grew up in Boston, so make that of what you will."

"Okay, so I'll run and hide if I see a pissed off Brazilian lawyer coming up my driveway." She splashed him playfully as he let out a belly laugh. Settling back against her once more, Luigi became serious. "As I was saying, my family's pretty fucked up. The Masciarelli side has always had this … I dunno … code of silence. The men always talk around and never to each other; I don't know why. It started with my nonno. He … was never very communicative in the best of times and an outright asshole in the worst. He and my father hated each other. I guess too many Marios in the house? But my father and Joe? They were inseparable – two sides of the same coin. And they had their issues, too. Joe never wanted me to go to college or leave New York; my father did everything he could, and more, so that I would leave. The screaming matches over my education were something of legend on 62nd Street."

Daisy took the washcloth and spread the soapy water across his chest and arms. "When I met Giuseppe at your house, I got the impression that he saw you as his surrogate son. Arguably, I don't know much about Italian families, but even as close as they can be, he seemed a little too interested in your life, way beyond that of a paternal uncle."

"Well, Italian families are always in each other's shit. Uncle Sal wasn't lying to you when he said that Italians are the biggest gossips. That's especially true within the family. Nonetheless, you are right that Joe's interest in my life goes beyond that of a zio. After my father died, I was actually sent to live with my Rigassi cousins in Bensonhurst, which royally pissed him off. It was my father who requested that I be put into the care of my mother's cousin, Jackie. To this day, I still don't fucking understand what my father was thinking. Jackie and I really didn't see eye to eye."

"Why?" she asked, adjusting her position to sink further down in the warm water.

Luigi groaned, and he gently flipped onto his side to face his girlfriend. "The moment of truth, huh?" Without replying, Daisy moved closer to him, and he curled his arms around her. "Jackie's … Jackie Morano. That last name, Morano, is an untouchable one in Bensonhurst. It's … that way because he's … in the Mafia," he finished quickly.

Daisy smiled at him as if he were telling a joke. At Luigi's pained look, her smile disappeared, and she gasped. "Wait … You're serious? Your mother's cousin is … like John Gotti or something?"

"He's more like a stupid Tony Soprano, but yeah, you get the idea. Obviously, I wasn't a mafioso; shit, I played the violin and went to ballet class! Hence why he and then his underling, Bowser, called me a finocchio. What I didn't know until very recently is that my mother's side is more or less all Mafia. The cousins whom I saw in Colorado? Yeah, Mafia. Even my fucking grandfather, Luigi, for whom I'm named."

"Jesus, sweetie!" she breathed. "How … How do you feel about that? Did you know your grandfather?"

"No," he answered. "He died in Sicily long before I was born. My mother and Uncle Sal didn't and don't really talk about him much. And my grandmother, Audenzia, died shortly after Mario's birth. And how I feel about it? Pissed off because this was kept from me. Another thing that was kept from me was that the Plumbers' Union is controlled by the Moranos – more specifically, Jackie and his father, Carlo."

Luigi could see the wheels turn inside Daisy's head and then the flash of horror in her eyes. "Oh, Dio. So when Slaughter kicked you out of the union, they – your relatives – killed him?"

"Possibly, yeah." He exhaled and, with ragged breaths, asked, "Remember what Giuseppe said? About a code?" When he saw her nod, he went on, "I don't know much about … omertà, the code of silence, but growing up in Bensonhurst and watching films like The Godfather on television, you learn a few things. One: stay clear of the Cosa Nostra. Two: you don't fuck with their family members, even if and especially if they are not made members, and have nothing to do with it. No matter what Jackie thinks of me personally, I am still family and never interfered with them, so there's no reason to kick me out of their union. Well, Slaughter was a stupid asshole; he saw me as a Masciarelli instead of a Rigassi and a cousin of the Moranos. I don't know if someone goaded him into it or if he made that decision himself, but … the Moranos may have … retaliated."

"And that's why you feel responsible," she concluded. Stroking his chest, she said, "Luigi, you stood up for yourself and your cousin Maria by passing the practical. You did it the right way. You didn't ask your mother's cousins to intervene. What they did was their choice. And it sounds like Slaughter was dead the minute that he kicked you out."

Luigi managed a weak "yeah" while Daisy kissed his chest and reached up to kiss his lips. "You are not responsible, kerido. They may be related to you, but you are not a mafioso." She paused, allowing a certain train of thought. "What about those kids? The fact that Bowser fought me …" She started to sink into the space next to him when her lover pulled her to him again, wrapping his arms around her. Whispering against the rough skin of his jawline, Daisy inquired, "Do … do you think that they killed him, too?"

"No!" he insisted, kissing damp strands of her hair. "From the little that I know, they wouldn't risk getting you involved. They might slap him around or extract a financial punishment for his stupidity, but that's it. You turned him into a goddamned meme, so he'll get shit on forever. Him disappearing is something else. I think it's related to his brother."

"The psychopath? I thought he was dead."

"Yeah, he is dead. Mario brought the motherfucker's body back to New York himself. And no," he maintained with a finger, "he didn't kill him. Someone gave birth to those two kids." He looked down at the lioness who remained curled up with him. "Sure you want to be with me? Apparently, my family likes trouble."

Daisy smiled. "Still sure. Somehow, I'm sure Mario will be fine. And as for you," she slid up his body so that she was gazing down at him, "you have me. I'll protect you." As she leaned down, Luigi surprised her by meeting her halfway, seizing her lips hungrily. Flexing his core muscles, he brought them to a sitting position in the middle of the large bathtub. He lowered his head down to her clavicle, locking his lips and teeth onto her soft skin. She moaned in response, running her fingertips through his wet hair.

"I think we need to finish this bath and get to bed," he spoke lowly.


A sleepy Daisy stretched in the messed navy-blue sheets. Looking around for her plumber, she found herself alone in the lukewarm bed. A piece of college-ruled notebook paper on the end table caught her eye; she picked it up and read the precise American-style cursive:

"Buongiorno Cat-face,

È lunedì, quindi ho lezione fino alle 2 del pomeriggio. Mettiti comodo e io tornerò verso le 3.

Con amore,

Luigi"

Grinning at the signature con amore, she set the note on the table again and tossed back the covers. Gratefully, she noticed that her suitcase had been moved to the corner of the large bedroom, which meant that she could dress privately and not risk giving any of his neighbors an impromptu peep show. An unsurprised Daisy also observed that her fastidious boyfriend had picked up her discarded clothes from the floor and had likely put them in the washing machine. As she snickered at Luigi being the perfect 'house-husband,' she walked over to the suitcase, picked it up, set it on the bed, and opened it. About half of her clothes needed a good wash, which she would include with the laundry; selecting a pair of black capris, an orange tank top, and a set of black lace panties for Luigi's viewing pleasure, she dressed and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Finally, she put her auburn hair into a loose bun.

Finding her way into the kitchen, Daisy read 11:17 am on the microwave clock. Four hours to kill until Luigi comes back. After her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten for more than twelve hours, she turned toward the counter next to the refrigerator where Luigi had left her a plate of croissants, fruit, and a jar of marmalade. The woman hummed appreciatively and ate her brunch at the bar. There was now cold coffee, which she reheated in the microwave. Once she finished, she put her plate with the dirty ones in the dishwasher, filled the tank with detergent, and turned it on. Next, she brought her dirty clothes into the laundry room and, sorting them by color, started the first load of wash. For the next hour, she talked on the phone with her father, lamenting Brazil's loss in the third-place game while cursing Argentina for its mere appearance in the championship against Germany; when Harry asked if she was at home in Pacific Heights, Daisy claimed that she was staying with girlfriends in Palo Alto, and that she would be back on Friday evening. She did not dare tell him about the Malian border crossing or her Bensonhurst boyfriend who was studying at Stanford.

Daisy let out an exasperated blow of air, having put the first load into the dryer and the second load into the washer. Two and a half hours remained. She could and should start writing the first draft of her thesis, which her advisor would undoubtedly make her revise at least ten times before submitting it for defense at the end of February. She should start organizing her law school admissions applications. However, she had not had much of a vacation between June and mid-July. With another toothy grin, she jogged excitedly to the large bedroom and changed into a one-piece swimsuit, cap, and goggles. Towel in hand, Daisy then opened the French doors to the pool area and swam laps – freestyle, breast-stroke, and her favorite, the butterfly – for the better part of an hour. Slightly disappointed with her butterfly sprint, she decided that she would spend more time in the weight room upon her return to New York. She dried off and wrapped the towel around her upper body; yet as she entered the house, she heard noises coming from the living room, which sounded like a man's humming. Quickly, Daisy looked around for a makeshift, non-lethal weapon, but found none. Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen; hiding behind a corner, her adrenaline skyrocketed when she saw a very tall man dressed in a purple button-down shirt tucked into cream-colored pants and expensive dress shoes. Letting the towel drop to the floor, the frightened woman bore her knuckles and positioned herself as he turned into the kitchen.

Lucas felt his legs slip out from underneath his weight and strong arms put him into a chokehold. "What the fuck?!" he managed to gasp.

"I'll give you ten seconds before I snap your neck like a chicken bone. Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing here?" growled the auburn-haired woman.

His brown eyes shifted upward to glimpse dark, feminine auburn hair. Was she sent by Pete Morello? Couldn't be. "I'm into a lot of things, baby, but being choked without my explicit consent isn't one of them. I don't have my collar and chain with me." She tightened her grip, causing him to struggle for air. "Okay … okay! I'm … friend … Luigi's."

She did not loosen her hold on Lucas's neck. "Why didn't he tell me this? And how did you get in?"

"I … have … a … key!" He held up the brass house key to show her that he was, at least in part, telling the truth.

Immediately, she let go of him and stepped back to increase her distance from the stranger. He began to cough and twisted so that he was sitting and facing his assailant. His eyes fixated on her tanned, muscular legs and wandered to her swimsuit-covered breasts.

"My eyes are up here, asshole."

His eyes snapped up to hers and widened when he finally saw her entire face. It's the Amazon Queen herself. "Um, hi."

"Hi. Now, who exactly are you?" she demanded evenly.

He coughed again, touching his neck. "Lucas. I'm Luigi's best friend from school."

"From Stanford? You're a liar! He just got here!"

As she moved to kick him in the face, he held up his hands in a mixture of annoyance and fear. "From Brooklyn City! We went to high school together." She stopped in her tracks, and he used that moment to stand up, still coughing. "Before he went to Staten Island! I live in Los Angeles, but I come up every so often." He bent over to catch his breath. "You … must be Daisy. Right?"

Daisy's hostile and frightened stance softened at the mention of her name. "Yeah. Luigi never mentioned you."

Lucas's eyes briefly flickered in anger. He never mentioned me?! Ungrateful κωλοτρυπίδα. "Huh, that's odd because he's mentioned you to me. I was, uh, worried about him. He was in quite the tizzy this past weekend."

It was her turn to recoil painfully. "Yeah, some things happened, and I was delayed. Luigi said that he'd be back at three o'clock. Uh, I'm sorry for putting you in a headlock. I really didn't know who you were." In truth, she was not sorry, though this man somehow seemed more unpredictable than most men, including Bowser.

He put up a hand and waved. "Don't worry about it. I saw the, ahem, video of you kicking Bowser's ass. Quite the martial artist," he said with a smirk.

Daisy shivered and forced a smile. "Yeah. Um, I'm going to get changed and I'll be back out, okay? You can get some water or soda." She ambled toward the bedroom and locked the door behind her. Lucas claimed that he was Luigi's 'best friend,' yet he never brought him up in conversation, and she had met Miles, Yoshi, and Mario, all of whom he had spoken at length. The tall man gave her the creeps, especially as his eyes trailed up her body, as if he were mentally undressing her. Reaching for her phone, she texted to Luigi, "Who is Lucas? He let himself into the house!"

While she put on her panties, black sports bra, the capri pants, and a looser green tee-shirt, her boyfriend wrote back, "WHAT? Lucas came in?"

She replied, "He let himself in with a key and claimed that you're best friends from Brooklyn City?"

After she put her hair in a protective bun to avoid it being used against her in a physical altercation, Luigi answered, "I'll be there in 30 tops. He's a friend from Brooklyn City, but NOT my best friend. You're in no immediate danger from him, but he has no personal boundaries. Text me IMMEDIATELY if anything happens, ok?"

"Ok," she typed back. "I put him in a headlock, so I doubt he'll try anything."

A moment later, she received his response: "That's my sweetie. ❤️ ❤️ One final thing: if he mentions your friend, Tails, he's a mechanical engineer at Cal Tech. Miles was visiting, as you know."

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she opened the door and returned to the kitchen where Lucas was sitting at the breakfast bar, can of Diet Coke in front of him. The hair and skin on the back of her neck continued to give her goose flesh; there was something amiss with Luigi's 'friend.' To keep her distance while appearing hospitable, she fetched a Pellegrino from the refrigerator and leaned against the opposite countertop.

As for Lucas, he smiled brightly at the medium-sized woman. "Ah, hello again. I think … we got off on the wrong foot. Let me introduce myself, properly, like a gentleman. My name's Lucas Kariolis. Weeg and I go way back to Brooklyn City. He and I recently got back in touch. Went to Arizona and Colorado together. We're business partners. I'm, uh, well, I work in tech in L.A. Actually, I own a gaming company; I'm trying to branch out into A.I. and control systems. Luigi's my right-hand man."

Daisy nodded and took a sip of her lemon Pellegrino. Business partners? And they were both in Arizona and Colorado? "Oh. I'm Daisy Abravanel, Luigi's girlfriend. I, uh, study at Columbia."

Lucas made a face and crossed his arms. "Columbia? That's … a decent school. Not as good as Harvard, though. What do you study?"

"I'm getting my master's degree in International Affairs. I'm using it to apply to law school for next fall."

"Oh," he responded in a condescending tone. "International law, I'm guessing? I'd assume that this was why you were in Africa. Helping starving orphans and such?"

Angrily, she set the can down next to her and mimicked his posture. "Actually, Lucas, yeah. International and Intellectual Property law."

He scoffed a little. "Intellectual Property? That would require a …"

"A technical background, yes," she interrupted testily. "What? You think that a woman can't get that? Believe me, I get tired of explaining it to bros like you. If you're going to ask me for a CV, just so you can show off, you might as well get right to it. Given your remark about Harvard, I assume that you went there?"

He smirked a little. "Yep. Computer Science. MBA at UPenn."

She chuckled in derision. "Ah, the Trump School of Radio-Television." At his narrowed eyes, she continued, "Well, Harvard isn't as good as Oxbridge. I was actually accepted there, but chose to go to England instead. Upper second in Physics from St. Catherine's, Oxford."

Lucas's mouth dropped open. He had applied to both Oxford and Cambridge; despite being top of his class at Brooklyn City, he had been soundly rejected by both schools. It was a rare occurrence of embarrassment for the man, as he was quite used to flaunting his superior Ivy League education and refinement to his peers in the tech industry. He had never met a woman as feisty and beautiful as Daisy who also had an elite pedigree. He suddenly had the urge to tie her to his canopy bed and fuck her senseless, or tie himself to the bed and let her fuck him – whichever.

Taking Lucas's silence as conciliatory, Daisy took a sip from the Pellegrino can and remarked, "Now, if you're quite finished being a Harvard ass, we can wait for Luigi."

Fifteen minutes passed in an awkward staring contest between the Manhattanite and the lioness, with the latter narrowing her eyes at any movement on his part. It ended when the front door opened, closed, and masculine footsteps rapidly approached the kitchen. An out of breath Luigi immediately strode toward the woman and, green backpack still slung over his shoulder, kissed her deeply in front of Lucas, who rolled his eyes at the embrace. He broke the kiss, then turned to face the other man, placing his hand possessively at the small of her back. "Lucas," he greeted tensely.

"Weeg, my man," he began somewhat nervously. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I see Daisy got back safely."

"Yeah, she did," answered Luigi as he glanced down at his girlfriend. "And you couldn't send me a text or call?"

"Hey, Friday night scared me a little! You were well beyond shitfaced …" Lucas inwardly giggled at the questioning glare that Daisy was giving a now-nervous Luigi. Inasmuch as he detested apologies, he would offer a half-assed one in exchange for the bigger payoff. "Anyway! I think Daisy and I got off on the wrong foot again. You know me – sometimes, I can't shut up, especially post-chokehold. Daisy, I'm sorry that, um, well, I made light of your degree. I was just joking, really. I'd like to make it up to you by taking you to lunch on Thursday."

Luigi and Daisy's eyes met and wordlessly exchanged the same thought: what was he up to?

"Ah, Lucas, I don't know …" started Luigi.

"I'd love to!" interjected Daisy with a false smile.

It was Luigi's turn to give her an incredulous look while Lucas secretly congratulated himself on his 'mysterious way with women.' Sorry, Weeg, but you need to learn this sooner rather than later. All women are the same; wave a wad of cash in their faces, and they all become cheating whores. "Great! I'll pick you up at noon on Thursday! I know this great restaurant – you'll love it!"

"As long as it's vegetarian," she politely amended. Luigi chewed on his lip as if he wanted to refuse the invitation for her.

"Oh." Lucas's face fell and he mentally took note. "Well, glad you told me ahead of time, as Greek cuisine isn't exactly vegetarian-friendly. I know of a few good places that are vegetarian. Alrighty then!" Leaping excitedly off the stool, he waved lightly to Daisy. "Well, it's a date!"

"I'll walk you out," Luigi bit out, slapping his arm around Lucas's shoulders and steering him to the door. The latter had to swallow several times to keep from howling with laughter at his best friend's reaction. At the doorway, he spun on his Italian-leathered heel to face a glowering Luigi. "Well, I'm so glad that she made it out of Mali, my man. Next weekend's my big birthday bash; we'll hang out!" He put his hand on Luigi's shoulder.

"Give me your key," the plumber hissed.

"What?"

"The key! I want it now! You keep barging into my house, Lucas, and you scared the shit out of Daisy! Now give me the fucking key!"

"Well, I can't," replied Lucas innocently. "I can't because, well, it's actually my house." At Luigi's pallid, disbelieving stare, he continued, "I bought the house when I was looking for a place for you. Having a house in Silicon Valley's actually a very good investment. I see," he glanced around, "you've taken good care of it, too. But since it's my property, I can enter whenever I please. And since there's no rent," he shrugged, "what are you going to do? Sue me?" He stepped outside and flashed the key tauntingly, "You could have at the very least told her about me. Not very nice, Weeg. And especially since I'm taking the time to get to know her. Ta-ta until Thursday!"

Luigi slammed the door behind the whistling man. Scowling, he returned to the kitchen where Daisy was drinking the remnants of her lukewarm Pellegrino. "So what the hell was that about?" he ordered. "First, you're scared shitless, next, you're gonna have a lunch date with him?!"

An irritated Daisy tossed the can into the recycling bin and crossed her arms. "I could say the same about you, Luigi. You're not besties, but you're going into business with him? You keep company with that insufferable prick?!"

"He's not my 'bestie,' cat-face. More like a frenemy. Yeah, we are going into business together, but not by my own choice, not entirely." Sighing, he reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water and leftover prosciutto. He sat down at the breakfast bar while avoiding her piercing no-nonsense stare. "He blackmailed me, sweetie. Well, blackmailed my former shop. And now that I know that the union's Mafia …"

"… You think he is, too," finished Daisy as she moved to sit next to him.

"I know he is. Remember Jackie Morano?" She nodded as he ate some of the ham. "Well, his son, Fat Tony Morano, hired Lucas as … something. He also works with my cousins in Colorado."

"So what does he want with you?" inquired Daisy.

"I don't know exactly. Lucas … Well, he cheated his way through Brooklyn City. I tried to do the right thing by turning him in, but his father paid off the administration. The principal and vice-principal, who already hated me for being a low-class Italian, made my remaining months hell. He could never do the math or the hardware for things like A.I. or controls. I think he needs me for that."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "It doesn't surprise me that he's a cheat. The man had the chutzpah to scoff at my degree from Columbia, as though it was in basket weaving or some M.R.S."

Luigi inhaled deeply, then fixed his gaze on her. "Cat-face, he hates women. Always has. I don't want you to go to lunch with him on Thursday."

"I want to know what he really wants with you," she insisted.

"Goddamnit, Daisy, I'm serious!" he cried. "He … The man's loaded, and I mean, seriously loaded. Multimillionaire. His father owns his own investment and shipping company, and I'm sure he's a billionaire! What do I got? I mean, yeah, I share a house with my brother, and … that's it. I don't currently have a job or have zeroes to my name. Lucas can do things that I can't even imagine! He's suave, rich, and dangerous. I can't do anything against that!"

"Hmm, well, that doesn't impress me. You know what impresses me?" Her lover avoided her eyes and focused on the table. "Luigi, look at me," she firmly requested. He lifted his eyes uncertainly. "I don't want rich men with egos. I've been through that already. I want the plumber in front of me, who's sweet, gentle, and so fragile at times that he thinks that he's so insignificant that 'zeroes' would turn his girlfriend from him. Well, Lucas is a single zero. I care about you. Do you trust me, sweetie?"

"I … Yeah. Yeah, I do," he affirmed. "I just don't trust him."

"Who cares about him?" Daisy took his hand and brought it to her cheek. "I don't. But I care about you, kerido. I want to protect you."

"But at what cost, principessa? If he did something to you, I couldn't … I can't!"

She kissed his hand. "It's my choice, sweetie. And I don't want him to do anything to you."

He bit his lip furiously, and his eyes blazed a bright blue. "Only on one condition. The restaurant must be public in San Francisco. At the end, you have him drop you off at the Stanford campus, to me. Nessuna eccezione!"

His lioness nodded. "Alright. But I have a condition of my own." At Luigi's raised eyebrows, she responded, "Tell me about Friday night. What was he talking about?"

Luigi groaned and shoveled more of the prosciutto into his mouth, washing it down with the bottled water. "I did something stupid. I got drunk around him and passed out."

"Why did you get drunk?"

"Because I …" He grasped her cheek with the hand that had been in hers. "When I hadn't heard from you, I … I went a little matto – nuts. I came back after a three-hour bike ride to clear my head, and there he was. Just like we were in high school, he ordered Indian food and brought a bottle of vodka, my drink of choice when I needed to bury my pain. I got royally fucked up and woke up to a massive hangover. It wasn't one of my better moments, I'll admit."

"He's playing on your insecurities. That's why he did it."

"I know, cat-face. And that's why I instantly regretted it. And why am I still 'friends' of a sort with him? At one time, we were very close. Not lovers, but … more than friends. Almost like brothers. Looking back on it, I think I … loved him like a brother. After my father died, it was like I was an untouchable. Jackie never spent more than five minutes with me. His wife and daughters ignored me. Tony was in jail at the time. Even at school, in Brooklyn, people would whisper around me, give looks of pure … pity, but they'd never actually talk to me. I was so … alone. And with Mario gone off to the Army, there was no one. Lucas, however, was always there. We'd study together, drink together, get high together, piss off the administration together. Every Monday," he chuckled, "we have our Coffee and Asschew. We'd cut class to eat waffles; when we'd sneak back into school, we'd get hauled into the principal's office and read the riot act. Everything together. Until it became clear to me that he had been using me."

"Sweetie," she began, uncertain of the question that she wanted to ask. "Why were you an untouchable? Your father, given his job, must have had a plan should anything have happened to him. I don't understand. And where were Giuseppe and Salvatore in all of this?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he automatically responded, rising from his seat and emptying the water bottle into his mouth.

"Luigi, I think you have to at some point." He snarled furiously, slammed the water bottle into the recycling bin, and tried to walk out of the kitchen when she blocked his path. Putting a gentle hand on his chest and heart, she murmured, "I'm not trying to make you relive a painful time in your past. We all have that. Even me. I'm an untouchable, too. My mother's family – the Chinese side – still refuses to acknowledge that both she and I exist, that my grandfather had an affair with an Afro-Caribbean woman. It hurts. I've accepted it, yet it hurts. Or that, in my paternal grandparents' eyes, I'm lesser because I'm a woman and mixed." She took a breath, observing the unshed tears in his eyes. "You've managed your pain in a way that works for you; I respect that, and I'm not trying to tell you how to live. However, the problem that I see is that Lucas knows about your pain, and he will use it, especially when he thinks he's the only one who knows."

Having listened to his girlfriend's plea, the plumber blinked several times. His eyes shifted from a fiery blue to a placid cerulean; intertwining his fingers with hers, he silently pulled her toward their bedroom. They entered, and he lowered her to sit on the bed. Slipping his sneakers off, he went to the opposite side and lay down. Daisy stretched out next to him, trying to anticipate his movements. Several moments passed with one observing the other. Luigi broke the reticence with a deep and ragged sigh, and he took her hand again. "Cat-face, I'm not … ready to talk about what I think you want me to say. About my father. About the year and change that I spent essentially homeless. Not yet. But … I hear what you're saying. I am listening. It's just … there are only two people who know: Lucas and Uncle Joe. I'm afraid that if I share it, I'll …" He blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

Daisy brushed the tear away with her fingertips and she kissed him, first on the cheek, then on his lips. "I know, kerido. When you're ready. Or …" she added with a tinge of hurt, "If you're more comfortable with Giuseppe, Miles, or Yoshi, then tell them. I just don't want you to be played by Lucas."

Returning the kiss, he moved his head so that his nose touched hers. "It's not you," he rasped. "Please don't think that it is. In these five months, you have made me so … happy! And I want to make you as happy as you have made me. I don't want you to be involved in my family drama, which has been the source of so much unhappiness. Does that make sense?" He shook his head while stroking her cheek. "You don't deserve that. You deserve to be … successful, supported, loved."

She gazed at him, reflecting upon what he had told her and deciding on her subsequent words. Finally, she whispered, "Part of a relationship, sweetie, is sharing the good and the bad. We should be a team, and that includes facing pain. You don't deserve to suffer like this. I'm not here to … fix you or tell you that I can make it better. I am, however, here to share the burden, even a little. Talk to me on how we negotiate this. Let's start with Lucas and take one step at a time."

Luigi hummed in thought. "Okay, um … As much as I hate the idea, you're probably right that giving him attention is what he wants. He, uh, probably wants in your pants and he wants power over me."

"Well, yeah, his skinny ass can dream on. I prefer plumbers with muscle."

He preened and gave her a small purr. "Well, I wouldn't want to brag. Anyway, yeah, let's kiss his ass a little, just enough to get information and feed it back to Miles."

"Miles? Your friend from school? The blond guy who looks like everything frightens him?"

"Yeah. Well, Yoshi and I call him 'Agent Mulder' for a reason. That being said, he's, uh, a very talented hacker and has our backs against Lucas. That's why he came out to California over the holiday."

"Oh, okay. I'll also do as you asked before – I'll come directly to Stanford."

The plumber enfolded her into his arms, nuzzling her neck. "Sweetie, how can you be so … calm and accepting of this?"

She grinned into his shoulder. "For the first time in my life, I'm part of an actual investigation. That's why I want to be a lawyer. Practically speaking, I couldn't be a professional soccer player or swimmer, so the next best thing is a career in which I can investigate and uncover the wrongs. That's why I didn't stay at Oxford to become a professor like my father and stepmother wanted; I went into the Peace Corps instead." She lifted her head to meet his blue eyes. "I mean … I'm not happy that we have to do it this way, and like you, I don't want to deal with him. But giving him crumbs seems better than an all-out war on his turf. And you need to do well here."

"Agreed," he said. "I figure with my grades that I can apply to NYU or …"

"Or?" asked Daisy, raising an eyebrow.

"Or … come to Stanford – California – permanently. So far, my professors have been interested in my future plans. It would, uh, take three to four years to graduate. And plumbers can find work anywhere. I mean, if I came to California, I'd probably start as a journeyman, which I wouldn't mind. I'd make roughly the same amount of money that I was making in New York."

"And if you stayed on the East Coast?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. With Slaughter dead, there is a possibility that I could return to the shop. I'd do so, only if I could continue my education. After I get my degree, I think I would want to do something else. Engineering, probably. I find control systems fascinating."

She stroked his hair, causing him to purr contentedly. "Part of the reason why I need to re-take the LSATs is to get into a good law school. The job market for lawyers is very competitive. And it's particularly hard for women. I plan on applying to Stanford, as my father went there, Berkeley, Yale, Columbia, NYU, and Boston University. I was going to apply to Harvard and UPenn, but after meeting Lucas, I'm seriously having second thoughts."

"What's your preference?"

"Stanford or Yale, probably. If you had asked me this question six months or even a year ago, I'd have immediately said Stanford, Harvard, or Yale because they're the best. Now? I don't know. I like New York, the freedom that I enjoy, and there's so much to do … And you're there."

"Daisy, I just … I want you to know somethin.' If you get accepted to and want go to Harvard, Yale, or Stanford, then that's where you should go. And … if, at that time, you still want me, I'll go with you. I don't want you to compromise or give that up. I know it'll be three years in school, plus two, three years of paying your dues. I … I can't do long distance."

"I know," she affirmed. "It's same for me, too. And … if, at that time, you still want to, I'd love for you to join me."

He leaned down to kiss her lips and pulled her into an embrace.


They had spent the last two days in bliss. For the rest of the evening, they ate Indian takeout and took another romantic bath to relax from Lucas's impromptu visit. He returned Mario's and Yoshi's texts about Slaughter, and asked the former if he had heard anything from the union at the shop. Mario reported that he had not, though he had noticed two representatives enter Sal's office. Furthermore, there was no news about John Bowser, and Wendy and Louie remained in their care. On Tuesday, Luigi insisted on Daisy coming with him to campus in case Lucas tried to approach her without him present. As the rental company had offered him a generous deal on an SUV for the next three weeks, he opted to drive Daisy to the campus for extra security. Following his morning classes at the Engineering Center and her writing time in the Cecil H. Green Library, they had lunch at a nearby farm-to-table restaurant that also served vegetarian dishes. They went to the student recreation center, where they used the weight room as well as the climbing wall, which was a new experience for the plumber. Having worked up enough of a sweat to satisfy his athletic lioness, they returned to shower together at home. Later that evening, Luigi called Miles on the burner phone to discuss what had occurred the previous afternoon. The hacker reported that Lucas was indeed in contact with Scott Pichler and several anonymous numbers, which he assumed were the Colorado Rigassis. He was, so far, unable to hack his company-cum-personal server, despite multiple attempts at phishing or vishing his mid-level employees at his gaming company. Miles instructed Daisy to take her Senegal-based throwaway phone with her in case Lucas tried to crack it. He also requested Luigi to pick up a FedEx delivery that would arrive at an office near the campus by the following afternoon and to call him once it was received. The next day, Daisy spent most of the day in the library, stepping out for lunch and to answer a call from her father and Yael to let her know that they would return to San Francisco on Thursday afternoon and would expect her back for Shabbat. Luigi was similarly occupied with his study group and lunch to complain about the latest assignment and exam in Machine Learning and to work on his poster project for Control Systems and Entrepreneurship. Before they left campus at around four o'clock, Luigi went to the FedEx office and picked up the package that Miles had sent him as well as a few extra groceries for dinner. As Daisy made faux-chicken chickpea salad sandwiches, Luigi assembled the portable router via Miles's telephone instructions and testing, which would give them an extra layer of privacy against Lucas's potential monitoring.

Luigi stared up at the ceiling and the night-time shadows while his beautiful Daisy slept soundly on his bare shoulder. He checked the clock for the eleventh time – 10:32 pm. After dinner, he had straightaway dragged her to bed; knowing Thursday was upon them, he wanted both to show her what she meant to him as well as to declare to Lucas in a primal act of territoriality that she was properly taken and marked. Daisy held her own, he noted with a smirk; perhaps she was also marking him, not that he minded in the slightest. Nevertheless, he felt that familiar burn in the pit of his stomach, and it made his skin crawl that she would be meeting Lucas alone. His 'friendship' with the tall man had always confused him; Lucas was brother and enemy, angel and demon. Even in high school, the version depended on the day or hour; he could be generous one minute and cruel the next. Yet Lucas was right about one thing; he was always there when Luigi needed to fill an emotional void.

Slipping from underneath his lover, Luigi put on his boxers, grasped his phone, tiptoed out of the bedroom, and shut the door to avoid disturbing her. As quietly as he could, he ambled to the den, which was on the other side of the house. The moonlight gave the ivory-colored walls and cobalt blue furniture an ethereal hue. He reached over to turn on the small lamp atop the corner table, sat down on the armchair next to it, and looked down at his phone. Daisy was right; he needed to let out some of the anxiety, otherwise Lucas would always have the upper hand. It was late on the East Coast, so he debated whether to call or simply wait until tomorrow morning. The decision had been made for him, as his phone began to ring. Pressing the green phone key, Luigi answered, "Zio, it's past 1:30 there. What's wrong?"

"Hey, kid. I, uh, I couldn't sleep," replied Giuseppe. "I'm in my shed so I don't," he coughed, "I don't wake the girls up."

"Oh. Are you … Are you okay?"

"Yeah, nipoti. I'm aight. I'm sure you heard about Slaughter."

"Yeah, I did," said the younger man. "I'm still a little in shock, to be honest."

"Makes two of us. I'm … You know, I always thought that I'd have this sense of satisfaction or happiness. I mean, I'll admit, I've prayed for the man's death several times in my life." He chuckled, though it came out more as a wheeze, "I even had to say a few Hail Marys a couple times for the shit I asked for. You know how Father Sal feels about that. He, uh, he was right – he once told me that wishin' death on someone ain't gonna get you what you want."

"Yeah, that's about how I feel, Zio. I thought that … his end would be a beginning, but it isn't. And now, I don't know what's gonna happen. I'm sure Miles told you what happened while he was here?"

"Some of it. Kid, what the hell were you thinkin' when you got back with Lucas? That piece of garbage's dangerous!" he cried, neither unkindly nor angrily.

"He blackmailed me, said that he would ruin Maldonado's contracts if I didn't go with him to L.A. He's been backing Pichler financially. I didn't know until later that he screwed with my phone, and I certainly had no knowledge of the trip to Colorado until we got there. The original plan was to go to Arizona and talk with some big-wigs at a few oil companies. And now … Daisy's here with me. He, uh, used a spare key that I didn't know he had to let himself in the house. I wasn't there, but she was."

"Jesus Christ! Come home now! Forget Stanford – you ain't safe! Daisy's got her parents there in San Francisco; tell her to go back to them until you get back to New York. I don't know much of this is Pete's shit or Lucas's, but either way, this is no place for you to be!" Giuseppe's lungs began to seize, and Luigi heard him start to cough violently, spitting out something.

"I can't! I've just completed my fourth week here and have three more plus finals. I'm at the top of my class, and if I continue to do well, I'll be given an invitation for full-time status at Stanford or NYU! Lucas and those assholes at Brooklyn City … took away MIT. I will not let them take this from me! I want the option. I know … I know you think that the union will offer me a job at the shop. I don't know that, and frankly, I'm not sure that I want to step in that hornet's nest."

Giuseppe coughed a little and exhaled haggardly. "Is it because of her? The choice, I mean. She's applyin' to Stanford, isn't she?"

"Yeah. Stanford's one of her top choices. Columbia, Harvard, and Yale are possibilities, too. She's got the grades and LSAT score to get in to any of 'em. And I … I'll go where she goes."

"How's she feel 'bout that?"

"We've discussed it. Daisy doesn't mind."

"Figlio mio, I meant what I said before – I don't mind Daisy. She's strong, sure of herself. I like that. She reminds me a lot of your Mama. Gabriella," he laughed again, "also put the fear of God in a Bowser when we were in school. One time, he thought it would be cute to slap her ass. Jimmy-B caught her right hand across his face – left a mark for the better part of a week. Anyway. Jews play by different rules than we do. Your generation forgets that Bensonhurst was, at one point, half-Italian and half-Jewish. And every Italian guy, myself included, tried to go out with a Jewish girl. And every time, the parents would make her break up with the poor bastard. They don't allow their daughters, let alone their sons, to date or marry non-Jews. Now, there were Jews who did marry Italians or Irish guys when I was growin' up; most of the time, the families cut 'em off and refused to acknowledge the marriage unless the spouse converted to Judaism and the kids were raised Jewish. Nessuna eccezione. And that shit was still goin' on in the eighties and nineties. Still does. I got nothin' against the Jewish people; they had to put up with a lot of bullshit over the centuries, and their insular behaviors are a result of that. I just don't wanna see you get hurt. Capisci ciò che sto dicendo?"

"Sì, zio, capisco," he answered weakly. "But … she's the one I want, and I can't, no, I won't let anything happen to her."

The elder plumber exhaled and wheezed a little into the phone. "Jesus, kid. Still givin' me agita after all these years. And Pete won't think much of that, though if I remember right, his own wife and child ain't fully Italian." After a pause, he spoke again, "Just don't underestimate that little prick. When you were … recovering, that bastard came to the house, in Staten Island. When I told him to get lost, he laughed at me, kid. He said very calmly, 'Luigi will never be a loser like you, and if you keep him from me, you'll regret not having joined your brother in hell.'" He heard Luigi audibly gasp. "That's the only time, aside from Marco Bowser, I've ever wanted to kill a kid. So, at the first sight of trouble, you send Daisy to San Francisco and get your ass back to Brooklyn. I don't give a fuck if Stanford extends an indefinite invitation on a goddamn silver platter!"

Luigi stared out in the dimly-lit den, blue eyes blazing with unshed tears and lightning-hot rage. "Why'd you never tell me?"

"He disappeared shortly thereafter, and you were in no condition to deal with that! You're still not old enough to grapple with hate. Your nonno learned it early, and look what happened to him!"

"Zio, why … why was I left to the wolves? Back then." He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "Why?" he asked faintly.

His paternal uncle was quiet for a moment. Finally, he responded, "I was afraid and I … I'd run out of hope. After the reading of your father's will, I was warned by Jackie not to interfere, that this was desired by his father. I told him that I'd see him and his father in hell. He pulled a gun and gave me a choice: you or Lucia and the girls. I couldn't have both. I'd … just lost your father. I couldn't lose anyone else. At least they'd be alive and you'd survive. But that night, when you'd almost … I didn't give a fuck anymore. I knew that had your father been there instead of me, he wouldn't have given a fuck, either."

Luigi began to sob into the phone. "This is my fault! If I hadn't existed, none of this would have happened … You, Daisy, Mario …"

"No!" shouted Giuseppe. "Don't you ever fuckin' say that! Ever! You … You are the hope! Don't you fuckin' get it?! You helped Maria! Whereas I woulda had her accept her fate like the fuckin' coward that I am, you walked with her, you did what I should've, just as you'd do with your brother. You gave him hope, too. And like she did, you faced Slaughter and stood up to the union! You gave Sal, José, and those guys hope! That's what your father saw and knew! If anyone could defy Carlo's and Pete's bullshit, it's you, kid. No, this is my fault. I should have listened to your father. I should've taken you, Lucia, your cousins, and ran!"

"Where … Where was Pete in all this? He wasn't at the funeral or the reading."

"I … I don't know. Even then, it was still chaos getting to and from New York. Anthrax in the mailbox, no one knowing if Al-Qaeda was still around the corner. I assumed that he couldn't get here. Now, like you, I'm not so sure."

"This … I'm … I'm scared, zio. I don't want to be a mafioso. I don't want them to point a gun at me and say, 'Choose.' I'd rather they shoot me dead than harm Daisy, you, Mario, zia, or anyone else." Joe became deathly quiet as Luigi started to sob again.


Daisy rose with Luigi at around half past six in the morning. He had slept curled up into himself throughout the night; since she was a heavy sleeper, she did not know if he had had a nightmare. He was eerily silent, save for the breathy whispers in her ear when he pounced on her in the shower. "Sei mia e sola mia per sempre!" he hissed constantly as he made her moan. As they exited the shower and re-entered the bedroom, Luigi pushed her back onto the bed and seized upon her sensitive spots. The lioness flipped them so that she was on top; gazing into his darkened eyes of black, cerulean, and periwinkle, she stroked his cheek and mustache. Luigi tried to re-orient their positions, but she used her weight and martial arts training to keep him flat on the bed.

"You have nothing to worry about, kerido," she murmured against his lips. "The only way Lucas could ever win me over is by being you."

Though his eyes softened, the pain lingered and swirled like the arms of a small galaxy. "I … He's … remorseless. Please do not take any unnecessary risks. You're too important to me."

"And you're important to me. I won't, I promise."

They held each other until Daisy coaxed Luigi to get dressed and eat before his nine o'clock exam. Before he left the house to drive to campus, he gave her one last hug and kiss. "I trust you, cat-face. Just know that … you're my true north, my Polaris."

She kissed him ardently in response. "When I went to New York, I was looking for adventure and freedom. I found you, Luigi Masciarelli."

Framing her face with his hands, he pressed his forehead and nose against hers, then stepped out into the driveway and went to the car. Daisy watched the red Mazda CX-5 pull away and disappear down the street. Checking the clock, she had roughly four hours before gritting through lunch with Luigi's 'frenemy.' For the first two and a half hours, Daisy packed her suitcase to return to San Francisco for Shabbat the following day and worked on her thesis draft, proud of herself for reaching twenty pages out of, in all likelihood, one hundred twenty, and her numerous law school applications, many of which were due in a month and a half. At quarter to eleven, she went out to the pool and, despite the cold water, swam freestyle and butterfly laps for the next forty-five minutes, leaving her thirty minutes to shower and dress. As she wanted to suck up to Lucas without being flirty, she opted for the summertime 'Parisian look': blue jeans, a loose-fitting black and white polka-dotted tunic, black velvet jacket, and maroon leather boots. As she finished blow-drying her hair and putting on the silver and turquoise earrings that Luigi had given her, she heard the knock at the door; tossing her wallet and throwaway phone into her Moroccan-style leather handbag, Daisy went to open the door; standing casually in the doorframe was Lucas, who was vested in a form-fitting beige Italian suit, a striped purple button-down shirt, and light brown designer shoes.

"Daisy!" he greeted brightly. "You look very nice."

She forced a smile that she hoped appeared genuine. "You don't look too bad yourself, Lucas."

"Shall we?" At her nod, he guided her out of the house and, after locking the door with the spare key, rushed in front of her to open the passenger car door to his purple sportscar. She mumbled a "thanks," to which he smiled magnanimously and shut it. A moment later, he slid into the driver's side and roared the engine to life; backing out of the driveway with one hand on the wheel, he turned the car down the street and sped off toward the highway. As he merged onto CA-101 heading north toward San Francisco, Daisy slipped on her sunglasses. Lucas snuck a few glances in her direction; as air from the partially open window whipped through her auburn hair, she looked like a French model for some Parisian fashion catalogue.

"So, Daisy, how did you and Luigi meet?" he asked. "He never told me."

She shrugged. "Um, we met at a party. Some of his friends from Bensonhurst invited him. What about you? I know you met in high school."

Lucas nodded. "Yeah, it was ninth grade at Broken and Shitty – that's what all the kids call Brooklyn City. Intro to Linux and IT Infrastructure. Professor Omaya was teaching a special elective for mechanical engineering and computer science students. We were number one and number two coming in – well, sometimes, we exchanged places. We also had Linear Algebra together. I helped Weeg with the IT shit and he helped me with Linear and Physics. We were inseparable through tenth grade and until Luigi's uncle forced him to go into plumbing," he rolled his eyes, "at the beginning of his junior year."

"Then you lost touch with him?"

"Yeah, regrettably," he answered with a grimace. "I tried to call and email him, but no response. I, uh, eventually gave up, went to Massachusetts. His family's, uh, very Italian, very conservative. Particularly his uncle, Giuseppe, on the Masciarelli side."

"Mm, yes, I did get that impression. I've met him."

The New Yorker did a double take at Daisy. "Oh, Christ, you've met him?! My condolences. Yeah, he's something else." He forced a smile. "Anyway, changing the subject! We've known each other for almost fifteen years. Long time! And you're from … where, exactly? Not England."

"I'm from here, actually. San Francisco."

With one hand on the steering wheel and a surprised face, he pointed downward with the other hand to indicate, "Here?"

"Yeah, though my family's from Brazil. My father came to America when he was very young and grew up in Boston. He and my mother moved out here when I was a baby."

"Your mother's also from Brazil?" he asked while changing lanes.

"Er, no. She was born and raised in Bermuda. I was born in Bermuda, as well. She and my father divorced when I was six. She's a Buddhist nun and has been since that time, so I was raised by my father and stepmother."

"You're serious?" At Daisy's shrug, he shook his head. "Well, we got something in common. My father's from Athens, came here for college and stayed. My mother, from whom he is separated but not divorced, is from Lazio, Italy. They split when I was four or five. I was raised by my father in Manhattan. They take turns shitting on each other and publicly screwing their partner du jour whenever possible. Do you speak Portuguese?"

"Sim, falo português," replied Daisy. "Do you speak Italian or Greek?"

"Minimal Italian, mostly from Weeg's cussing. But I do speak Greek fluently." Affecting a Greek accent, Lucas added, "My father insisted that I learn Greek and be baptized in the Greek Orthodox Church." Resuming his normal American accent, he growled, "I didn't mind Greek school, but I loathed every Sunday. Orthodox Sunday School, blech. I got thrown out enough that my father gave up forcing me to go. What about you? Did you hate the communion shit and the north-south-west-east bullshit?"

"I'm not Catholic and never had communion. Several of my friends at Oxford did, though. I've heard horror stories."

He nodded. "Believe 'em. Being Greek Orthodox isn't an improvement over Catholicism. Christianity and organized religion as a whole are a bunch of crap. What's Bermuda like?"

"I didn't spend a lot of time there. I was there for my first two months; they were there to visit my mother's family when she went into labor early. My father was in his third year at his law firm. I don't know how he managed it, but he met my mother while in the midst of his last year of law school. I grew up in the Bay Area and spent my summers in São Paulo."

They fell into silence as Lucas zoomed past the traffic to arrive in San Francisco proper at record, albeit illegal time, much to Daisy's secret amusement. He doesn't think any rule applies to him. She became somewhat nervous once they inched closer to Pacific Heights, her neighborhood. Did he already know about her background and heritage? When he arrived at a French restaurant in the Quartier Français, she visibly relaxed. As he had done before, he opened and shut the door for her, then gave the keys to the valet. Once seated in the posh bistro, he announced, "I hope you like French; I checked with the chef, and several of the dishes here are or can be made vegetarian." She thanked him and turned her attention to the menu fixe. After a few minutes, a waiter approached the table to take their order. Lucas greeted the man in French and requested a salade landaise, cassoulet, and crème brûlée. He asked Daisy for her selection in English, to which she replied in French that she would like une soupe à l'oignon, un risotto aux champignons, and une crème brûlée, aussi. With a très bien, Madame, Monsieur, the waiter left to put in the three-course order.

Lucas blinked. "You … How do you speak French?! And no accent?"

Daisy smirked while sipping her water. "I went to the Lycée français de San Francisco."

"Okay, just how many languages do you speak – fluently?"

She hummed. "Five." In reality, the woman spoke six, but Lucas did not need to know about Hebrew, the preferred language of her stepmother, grandparents, and several Israeli cousins.

"Jesus … English, French, Portuguese … ?"

"English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Bambara. And you? English, French, Greek, and …?"

He shrugged with a grin. "You got me again, Daisy. Just three."

The waiter rushed to their table with the first course – his salad and her soup. As he tucked the napkin into his Oxford, Lucas gaped at his lunch date. Daisy Abravanel was not what he expected – Oxford and Ivy League-educated, linguistically accomplished, cultured, athletic, and extremely beautiful. Normally, he disliked dating 'olive-skinned' women – especially those with opinions. However, she would definitely be worth a high-class fuck and as arm candy for some of his high-profile galas in Manhattan. After all, a working-class schmuck like Luigi Masciarelli would only be entertaining to her for so long, despite what Billy Joel contended.

Fork and knife in hand, he cut up his salad and took a bite. "How long will you be here? I know Columbia has a few year-long programs. Are you in California permanently now?"

She shook her head as she gently spooned some of the soup into her mouth. "No, I have one more year. I'll graduate in May, then hopefully be off to law school in the fall of next year. I'll be here in San Francisco until, well, Luigi finishes at Stanford. Then we'll go back to New York."

"And you're hoping to go to law school at – where? Yale, Harvard, Stanford, I'd imagine?"

"I don't know yet. I have to get accepted first," she laughed politely. "But yes, I'll be applying to all of them. Columbia, as well."

"So Luigi's just temporary," he concluded, chewing the lettuce and duck. "I get it – have your fun, then move on with your studies." He took a sip of water and watched her intently.

Daisy stopped mid-spoonful. Escroto – he's testing me. Fine, you fucking pig, game on. "Yes, I'm using Luigi for sex," she deadpanned, setting the spoon down and daintily wiping her mouth. "And believe me, Lucas, his plumber's pipe is the biggest I've ever seen. It's even more fun to go full reverse cowgirl."

Suddenly choking on the water, the New Yorker coughed loudly into his napkin while the woman unrepentantly resumed eating more of her soup and cheese-covered bread. Looking up at her with shocked brown eyes, Lucas continued to cough the water from his throat. Goddamn, does that woman have a mouth! I wonder what else she can do with it. "Point taken," he managed.

They ate in an awkward silence until the second course and red wine. A few bites into his cassoulet, Lucas dared to ask, "Have you met Mario? Wait, I know you did. in the video. He was there, I think. That's a local gym, in Bensonhurst, right?"

After swallowing a forkful of risotto, Daisy nodded. "I have, yeah. He's a typical big brother. Very similar to Brazilian big brothers."

"And what was the whole Bowser thing about? I mean, I didn't think he was stupid enough to fight a woman in public."

Daisy raised an eyebrow. Gotcha, creep. "I know, right? He seemed like such a jackass! He's got a thing for Luigi. I don't know why exactly."

Lucas leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially. "Between you and me, Daisy? Bowser's the biggest idiot in Bensonhurst. And with exception of Luigi, the entire place is filled with Italian lowlifes in wife-beaters. I mean, Weeg knows. Bowser's brother was a real piece of shit – he's dead now. Both of them were in with the Mafia, so was their father, so I'm sure John's getting flak for becoming a public emblem of Bensonhurst. Incidentally, have you ever seen Funny or Die's 'Bensonhurst Spelling Bee'? Yeah, the place sucks. Take it from a born and bred New Yorker, Daisy – Bensonhurst is our trailer park."

She leaned in and feigned innocence. "But what would the Mafia want with Luigi?"

He snickered underneath his breath. "Crabs in a bucket."

So he definitely knows more than he should. "And you're helping him leave Bensonhurst, I take it?"

Lucas leaned back in his chair. "Wouldn't you? If your best friend lived in the equivalent of a favela or trailer park, and he was more or less a genius, wouldn't you want to see him leave that behind? Daisy," he shoveled cassoulet into his mouth, chewed, and continued, "you've met the family. Well, the Masciarellis. They're from backwoods Italy. And do I mean, backwoods. Abruzzo's like Montana or Kentucky. They – Mario and Giuseppe – will keep him imprisoned there forever. Their intellect is about as measurable as my manicured pinky nail."

"What about his mother's family? I don't think he's ever told me about them, the …" she trailed off in a subtle lie.

"The Rigassis," he finished, sipping his wine. "Yeah. We met up with them in Colorado a few months back. Well, Luigi did. Beyond that, I don't know much about 'em." Daisy tried to hide her disappointment at Lucas's lie. It would take more than one meeting to get him to crack, if she wanted there to be a second. "Anyway, changing the subject from Italian trailer trash. This weekend's my birthday! Twenty-eight big ones! I'd be honored if you and Luigi would help me celebrate. I was going to organize a small thing up in Napa."

Nearly finished with her risotto and taking a sip of the red wine, she said, "I'd love to, Lucas, and thank you for the invitation. But I'll be spending the weekend with my parents."

It was Lucas's turn to frown. "Weeg said that he'd hang out for my birthday. He didn't tell me that he was going to meet the family." Then the wheels in his mind began to turn. Wait a second – he's not going, is he? Why is she not introducing him to her family? "Huh, well, I could always move the date. Since Weeg has school during the week, we can go the following weekend. Would that work?"

"It might, yeah. Let me check with Luigi."

"Parfait!" replied Lucas in French.

They concluded the meal with the crème brûlée; Lucas paid the bill and escorted her back to the car. Driving back to Palo Alto, Lucas sneaked glances at the auburn-haired beauty next to him. On one hand, Daisy was definitely problematic for him, as she spoke her mind and would undoubtedly influence Luigi – she and her weird friends. On the other hand, her accomplishments were astounding and could be useful to both of them when building capital for their future projects. Ultimately, the New Yorker decided not to chase her off outright; he would keep her around for the time being, provided that she continued to be useful, whether it be work or in the bedroom.

At the same time, Daisy texted a message to Luigi that they were on their way back to Palo Alto. Lucas was not what she expected; he was much sneakier and more calculating than Luigi had let on, possibly so as not to scare her. She knew that he was confused by her, which was an interesting observation in itself – Luigi's so-called best friend wasn't happy for them? And 'crabs in a bucket;' she reasoned that, for this to be remotely a true statement, Luigi would also have to be a crab – a mafioso. What did that mean? He knew much more than he was leading Luigi to believe. Patience, though, was a virtue, she thought. Lucas was both a miscreant and a braggart; his mouth was as large as his ego.

"Did you want me to drop you off at the house?" he abruptly asked.

"Actually, would you mind dropping me off at the Engineering Center? Luigi and I were going to meet up after his classes."

He shook his head with a grin. "Not at all! I'd also love to say hello and get his opinion on hanging out next weekend."


Having worked the morning shift in Manhattan and the Bronx from 6 am until 2 pm, Mario decided to check on the house in Bensonhurst and pick up Luigi's mail. Parking in the driveway, as Luigi's Suzuki was in the garage, he exited the company truck and approached the door. While fishing out his keys, he noticed that the door had been forced open, although gently to preserve the door and lock. Mario rapidly turned back to the truck and grabbed a crowbar and a pocket knife with which to defend himself. In that moment, he despised New York's gun laws, as he could not remove his handgun from the Manhattan residence to which it was registered. Crowbar in his right hand, he pushed open the front door with his left. Checking in all directions, the plumber cautiously entered the house and softly shut the door. Even though it was still clean, the kitchen had been used, as the garbage can was a third of the way filled. Mario's blue eyes caught sight of his ketchup bottle sitting on the counter top. Tiptoeing to it, he noticed that someone had used roughly a fifth of his prized condiment. Tightening his fingers around the metal bar, he set the ketchup back on the surface and employed his Special Forces training to inspect his bedroom ensuite; there was no sign of anyone, as the bed was still made and the shower still dry with a layer of dust. As there had been no one in the living room, he decided to go up the stairs to inspect Luigi's room. However, the stairs squeaked audibly, which would ruin the element of surprise if someone were up there. Mario opted instead to cause a commotion downstairs, thus forcing the intruder to make the first move. Sneaking behind a corner, he hit the garbage can with the crowbar, forcing it to topple over with a loud crash. The plumber then heard footsteps upstairs and the squeak of someone descending them. As the man bent down to pick up the trash, Mario approached from behind and knocked him to the floor.

"Fuck!" cried the intruder.

The plumber pointed his crowbar at the man's throat. "Hello, Bowser. I'd ask what the fuck you're doing in my house, but I think the better question is why the fuck did you break in to my house? Also, your kids miss you, jackass. Where the fuck have you been?"