The whistling never starts up again, but there's more noise now, things rattling and drawers banging. It reminds me of Karissa trying to cook in the kitchen.

Karissa's food is nearly gone when I hear the voice ring through the deli, his words polite, but his tone is always brash, like just the sound of it can rub a person raw, grate the skin right from their body and expose them to the bone. This is nothing new—he greets customers every day, every chance he gets, making sure the food is good and they like being here.

Our table is in the center of it all, but he does a wide circle around it, saving us for last. Karissa watches the man curiously as others smile whenever he smiles, laughing along with him. His humor can be infectious with the right crowd, but I'm not his target audience.

Neither will she be, for that matter.

Finally, he comes to our table. Karissa glances up at him, her expression slipping. She turns to me, hesitant, and I can practically see her heart beating out of her chest in alarm.

There's no warm welcome here.

No smiles or laughs for us.

He looks furious.

He presses his palms flat against the table, leaning over until his face is a mere few inches from mine. I can feel the heat radiating from him, smell the sweat coating his skin, the tinge of salt mixing with a hint of tobacco, a scent I'd be ecstatic if I never inhaled again.

My gaze shifts to meet his for the second time in a day, trying to come off as relaxed and at ease, but the inside of me is taut, coiled like a spring.

"There isn't somewhere else you can be?" he asks, voice low. His breath reeks of hot cinnamon, like the flavored toothpicks he chews on to keep from smoking. "Somewhere else you can eat? There are thousands of restaurants in this city, Ignazio. Thousands. Why do you come here?"

"The food is good."

"The food is good," he mocks. "You didn't order anything."

"I was concerned about safety."

He narrows his angry eyes at my casual words, taking it offensively. "You think I would mess with your food, do you? Think I would try to make you sick? Poison you, like those other schmucks you deal with?"

"I think it's possible."

"You think so highly of yourself. You always have. But I would never. Never. This is my life… my food is everything… and you're not worth it. You're not worthy of eating my food, period. I would certainly never contaminate it for the likes of you."

The voice is slowly skinning me alive, pulling me apart piece by piece. I stare at him hard, seeing Karissa's stunned expression from my peripheral. I don't turn to her. I do nothing but drum my fingers on the table, absorbing every word he says, knowing she hears it, too.

Good.

Maybe she'll get what she wants from this.

Validation.

She's not the only one who hates me.

There are people out there who hate me even more than she ever could.

She's not capable of the kind of hatred this man brings.

"You're scum," he continues. "You think I'm a bad guy; you think I would taint my food for you, that I would hurt what I love, but that's you, Ignazio. You. Not me. You're the one who ruins everything."

The voice is his, but those words are hers… words Karissa said to me just a few days ago. Do you have to ruin everything?

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and slams it on the table in front of me, eyes still fixed on my face. "You aren't welcome here, and neither is your blood money. Take it and get out. As far as I'm concerned, you died a long time ago, and I'm glad for it. I won't let you haunt us anymore. I can't look at you, can't look at this demon you've become. You're better off staying dead. God knows you look it right now." He steps back, turning his focus to Karissa. "Run, little girl. Run far away from him."

My eyes follow him as he stalks through the deli, heading straight to the back, disappearing behind a swinging door. I stare at it in silence, taking deep, even breaths to steady myself, willing myself to remain calm, to stay in this seat. Dead silence overtook the deli while he berated me. I'm certain Karissa wasn't the only one who overheard everything he said.

"Naz?" Karissa whispers, her voice shaking. I stare at the still swinging door, contemplating following him back there as I continue to drum my fingers against the table. After a moment, she reaches over, placing her hand on top of mine to still my movements. "Ignazio?"

My gaze shifts from the door to my hand—to her hand, on top of mine, nails painted pale pink, a stark contrast to her soft tanned skin—before I meet her eyes. She looks shell-shocked, a look I've seen time and time again, the look of someone who knows they witnessed something they shouldn't have… the look of someone worried how I'm going to react because of it.

"I'm fine," I say, clearing my throat when my voice catches because I know I certainly don't sound fine. "Are you done eating?"

Her brow furrows as she looks at what's left of her food, like she can't believe I'm even talking about it at a time like this. "Uh, yeah…"

"Are you sure?"

She nods. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Then let's get out of here."

I pull my hand away and push my chair back, standing up. I smooth my suit coat as I wait for her to get to her feet, not looking at any of the other customers as I lead her toward the exit, leaving the money lying on the table. He can toss it in the fucking trash for all I care. I open the door for her, stepping out behind her, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth at the sound of the bell jingling above me.