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"Apologies, Aunty G." Adrian collapses into his seat and signals the waitstaff. He chuckles, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Apparently, someone else shares my punctuality issues."

A young woman walks in, hastily securing her apron. Momentary desire consumes me as she enters. I clench my fist beneath the table and regain my composure.

Something about her captivates me. Quirky. Voluptuous. Her light brown hair, though gathered in a bun, has a few rebellious strands refusing to cooperate. A notebook sticks out of her fitted black trousers' rear pocket—garments that accentuate her enticing curves. Most compelling is her gaze. She scans the place, her eyes vibrant, perceptive, absorbing every detail.

Or perhaps I'm projecting. I know nothing about her.

"Hello?" Adrian snaps his fingers. "Is service available here?—"

"My apologies, sir." The young male server attending to us approaches. "May I bring you something?"

"How perceptive," Adrian snorts, glancing at me expectantly, then frowning when his desire fails to materialize. "Whiskey. The bottle."

"A single glass will suffice," I interject with a dismissive gesture. "We don't require the bottle."

Adrian leans forward once the server leaves. "Are you ordering for me now?"

"My new consigliere should remain lucid and capable of productive conversation. You expressed enthusiasm for this position."

"You resembled a puppy discovering he can lick his own chops for the first time," my mother remarks.

"God, Aunty G, must you talk like that? Iamexcited. I simply fail to see what drinking has to do with it."

Across the restaurant, the Bratva erupts in raucous cheers, glasses clinking loudly.

"Perhaps you'd prefer their company."

Adrian narrows his eyes. "The Russians? I hope that’s a joke."

“It is," I confirm, though uncertainty lingers. His defensiveness seems excessive. "I shouldn't need to explain that our Family operates differently. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves. I recognize my uncle governed his territories with greater leniency, but he maintained principles. Preserved community welfare. Kept the streets clean.”

Adrian nods. "Precisely why I accepted. Together, we'll uphold those standards. You and I, cousin." He grins, clasping my shoulder. "Lighten up."

"He's right, darling," Mother interjects. "Occasional relaxation would benefit you."

Mother's statement strategically suggests she’s on his side. We can't alienate him prematurely during our surveillance. Yet sometimes I struggle to suppress my darkness. Father, Luka, the bloodshed, their mockery as they demanded more cruelty, increased evil. To emulate them.

The waitress glides across the restaurant. She taps her pen against her notepad as she goes. The professional pad for orders, distinct from the artistic one partially visible from her back pocket, shifting subtly with each movement of her exquisite fine round ass.

I avert my gaze promptly. Adrian's whiskey has arrived.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Adrian asks, consuming nearly his entire drink in one large sip.

"We need to ensure all districts remain clean. Certain operations are acceptable." By 'certain operations,' Adrian and Mother understand I mean financial crimes, extortion, and laundering. "But surely you agree we oppose the Bratva’s practices spilling onto our territory."

Adrian nods with excessive enthusiasm. "Absolutely, without question. It goes without saying."

Mother leans forward. Her scrutiny reducing Adrian to a shrinking child. I nearly sympathize. I know the feeling.

"Any revelations you feel compelled to disclose?"

"Regarding what specifically?"

"Anything potentially endangering your life. You have one opportunity, Adrian, for complete disclosure. We extend this chance to all new consigliere's."

“Nico's never had one."

He’s wrong. Mother has consistently provided counsel. For her protection, we have maintained public discretion.