She’s pretty, gorgeous even. Vito thinks, blowing cigarette smoke into the air as his dead blue eyes bore into her soul every time the waitress glances over. Tipsy Eddie slurs as he flags down the poor woman. “Sweetheart, we’re gonna need anotha’ round.”

Without a word, they have fresh drinks. Joe places a low hand on her back, rumbling with his usual unwanted charm. “Say, doll, what’s your name?”

Vito taps the white of his cigarette over the ashtray, awaiting her response.