"YOU HAVE GOT to be kidding."

We were standing outside Sal's Pizzeria in Flushing, Queens.  Donnelly held the faux wood door with the fake stained glass window open for me. "Come on, McIver. See how the other 99% live." He winked. "You know you wanna try it."

"This is not how to get me naked."

"Don't be so negative. This place is great. Best pizza I've had outside of Chicago." He put his hand on the small of my back and pushed me through the door. "You're gonna love it. Then you're gonna be like, Jason, I love it."

"Who's Jason?"

He ignored me.

Inside was a long counter separating the restaurant from the kitchen on the left, behind which a large man with a larger stomach was throwing a large circle of pizza dough in the air. "That's Sal," Donnelly told me.

"Of course it is," I replied. "Who else would it be?"

"Donnelly!" yelled Sal.

"Sal!" yelled Donnelly.

"You're an idiot," I told Donnelly.

"Nah. I'm friendly. " He winked. "Like a stewardess."

"I'm going to cut you."

"Temper, temper," he tsked and patted my ass.

I spun around, ready to answer that with a punch to the nads, but a petite, overweight grandmother with steel grey hair and an apron intervened by coming around the counter and running up to us. "Jason! You came back!" She pulled him down and kissed him on both cheeks.

"Of course I did, Nonna Theresa. Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"And who is this?" She pulled me down and kissed me on both cheeks. "She's beautiful, Jason. Such red hair! Red hair means passion! I can tell these things."

"Oh she's passionate alright." said Donnelly. "She's just a ball of passion."

"And she's beautiful too!" She turned and screamed, ""Sal! Isn't she beautiful!"

"Who's beautiful?"

"Jason's girlfriend!"

He dropped the dough and cupped his ear "Who?"

"Jason's fidanzata!"

"She's beautiful!" screamed Sal. "Sei molto bella!"

"Who's bella?" screamed a patron from the other side of the room. "Ah bella, she's beautiful."

Soon the whole dinning room was screaming Sei Molto Bella.

So this is what it's like to be self-conscious. I actually felt myself start to blush.

"Look at that." Donnelly nudged me. "You're blushing."

"So beautiful, and shy, too." The woman patted my cheek. "I'll put you in a romantic table, far away from everything so that you can be alone. Come with me." She waved her hand and led us to a booth at the very back of the restaurant.

"You were blushing," Donnelly whispered in my ear. "Don't you think I didn't see that."

"Shut up."

"It's giving me a woody."

"Shut up."

"Wanna feel?"

"Pig."

He grinned. "Blusher."

She placed the menus down and gestured for us to sit. "Sit, sit, the two of you, sit! I'll bring you antepasto, and some bread, and how about a nice bottle of chianti?" She clasped her hands. "I'll bring that, too." I watched her waddle off.

Donnelly slid in and patted the vinyl. "Come on, bella buttercup. Come sit."

I pursed my lips, sat opposite of him, and stared at the fake Tiffany's stained glass lamp with the faux bronze chain hanging over our table.

"Don't be ornery, McIver. Didn't I tell you this place was great?" He stretched his arms across the back of the booth. "You're just used to those fancy five star places Cosetino takes you. You'll get some real food here. Feed your stomach, feed your soul."

"Sounds like a deal for forty bucks, including tip."

He shrugged. "I'm a civil servant, McIver. A man of the people. I'm about justice, McIver, not bank. You're going to have to get used to that if you want to be with me."

I swallowed a laugh, then mimicked, "I'm about justice, McIver." I shot a finger pistol at him.

"Justice is my middle name. I'm Agent Justice Donnelly. Donnelly for the people."

"Mock all you want, buttercup. Quality doesn't have to be expensive."

"Says you. I guess I should be grateful you didn't take me to McDonald's."

"You'll thank me later."

I picked off some candle wax off the table cloth. "Hmm."

Nonna Theresa arrived to drop off our antipasto, bread, and wine. "Manga, Manga!" she screamed, grinning from ear to ear and waddled off.

Donnelly ripped off a piece of bread. "So. We're here on a date. Ask me a question."

"No."

"Come on." He stuffed the bread in his face. "Ask me," he said with a full mouth.

I grew up with brothers. I'm not easily grossed out. "Fine. Where are you from?"

He grinned showing me his bread encrusted teeth. "The great state of Iowa."

"Shut up." I stared at him "Liar."

"Am not. I'm from Clermont."

I dropped my fork. Clermont was down the road from McIver. "So you're literally from down the street from me."

"I am."

We had some meaningful eye contact, which I broke by asking, "So what'd my family do to you?"

He waggled his eyebrows. "Why, whatever do you mean, Lady McIver of the House of McIver?"

"You're from Clermont, Iowa, Donnelly. You tell me now, or I walk."

He ate his slice of garlic bread, and poured us both a glass of chianti. "Aren't you a little paranoid, there, McIver. I got nothing against your family."

"Sure you do." I sipped the chianti. It was actually pretty good. "Everyone has something against my family."

He shook his head. "Not true. The McIver group was always very generous. Sponsored my little league team, had a great county seat festival, that kind of thing." He pointed his bread at me. "You know, we even toured that white elephant of a house of yours." He stuffed it in his mouth and asked, mouth full, "Whazzit called again?"

"The McIver House," I muttered.

"Right." He nodded his head and stuck an entire slice of bread in his mouth. "Did your grandpa really bring it over from England?"

I picked up my fork and dug in. "No. It was my great-great grandfather. And it wasn't a house. It was the remains of four manor houses and a priory. The same people who built the Wrigley building designed and built it."

He whistled. "Fancy smancy. But why use ruins? Wouldn't it have been cheaper to build a new one."

"My great-great grandmother didn't want to leave Chicago unless my great-great grandfather could build her a house better than anything she could have there. So he did." I pointed at my salad with my fork. "This is good."

"Told ya. They make their own mozzarella here."

"Good for them." I took a few more bites, then added, "Anyway, the whole taking houses from over there and planting them here was kind of a 1920s thing."

"Listen to you, all proud of your heritage."

I dug out some more cheese and tomatoes. "Why wouldn't I be? We're Irish immigrants forced out because of an attempted genocide and now we have a house made out of the ruins of houses of the people who tried to kill us. America's a great country."

He made himself a salad. "That's a way of looking at it. Now, it's my turn for a question. Why'd your family leave Chicago?"

"I don't know," I replied. "That was, like, way before I was born."

"You McIvers, you know your history," he cajoled. "Come on, McIver. What's the big deal."

I considered. I suppose it wasn't anything that wasn't already public knowledge. "It was during prohibition," I answered carefully. "Chicago was dangerous, and my great-great grandpa wanted to protect us."

"So he conveniently located you between Chicago and Kansas City."

I looked at him. "What's your point?"

"Oh, only that Kansas City has as much, if not more, issues with organized crime than Chicago." He leaned forward. "Admit it. Great-great grandpa moved so he could be more conveniently located to all his clients."

"Why would I even know that?" I poked my mozzarella with my fork.

"Because," he eloquently replied. "You McIvers have made your business representing criminals from the moment grandpa Seamus walked off the boat in New York all the way up to this moment and beyond." He pointed his fork at me. "And your great-great grandpa took the family from Chicago because you all were getting too entrenched in the Outfit up there. You're Mob lawyers, every single one of you, but you're not married to one family."

Okay, so that was kind of true, but I wasn't going to admit it. "If you believe that, why'd you bother to ask?" I reached for the bread, but it was all gone. "Donnelly. You ate all the bread."

He grinned. "I did eat all the bread because it was good." He chugged down his wine then shook his glass at me. "And you know it's true, too, McIver. You know what you are? You're a Mob Princess."

I started laughing. "That's funny. Please. Do I look like a Mob Princess?"

"You're from a family of lawyers that have represented organized crime for an entire century, and you're marrying the consigliere of the Cosetino crime family. You're a Mob Princess."

I laughed so hard I began to snort. "What's a consigliere? is that even a word? It's not even a word." I snorted again. "You made up a word. Consigliere. That's not a word."

"Oh that's pretty. Laugh all you want. You're a mob moll, and you know it."

I got myself under control. "It's called a gun moll, and I'm so not a gun moll. You're stupid."

He waved at the kitchen. "If I get you more bread, will you admit it?"

"Admit what?" I batted my eyes. "Consigliere. Con...sig..liere. Consigliere."

"Fine. Be that way. Here's another question. I've always wondered, why'd you guys choose Iowa in the first place."

"Consigliere."

Normally my tendency to get hung up on a word irritates the crap out of people, but not Donnelly. Instead, he gazed at me with a look of such intense fondness I could swear it was genuine. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and stared at the tablecloth. "Why not Iowa?" I redirected. "It's a nice state. There's corn and soybeans, and it is actually more socially liberal than other Midwestern states."

"Missouri is a straight shot between Chicago and Kansas City." He shrugged. "Makes more sense."

"Well, there you have it." I slapped the table. "Don't you see, Donnelly? That's why your theory's stupid. We would have gone to Missouri if we were interested in proximity to both Chicago and Kansas City." I went to pick out the last slice of cheese, but he beat me to it.

"Dude! I wanted that that!"

He shoved it in his mouth. "Too slow, baby, too slow."

"You should offer me the last piece of anything before you eat it."

He started laughing. "You're so spoiled, Lady McIver."

"It's proper etiquette," I sniffed and looked around the room. "When do we order?"

"Don't worry about ordering. Nonna will bring us what she thinks we need."

This whole conversation was confusing me. I shook my head to clear it. "How does she know what we need?"

"She clairvoyant," he answered with a small smile.

Sure enough, no sooner mentioned than she appeared, holding a tray loaded down with a large bowl of baked zitti and more garlic bread. She also brought two bottles of Pellegrino. "Manga, manga," she yelled and then bounced off.

"Oh man," drooled Donnelly and rubbed his hands together. "I was hoping for this." He dug in and took three quarters of the bowl for himself.

I watched him in amazement. "You haven't been housebroken, have you?"

Before he could answer, my phone rang. I got it out, thinking it was Alex - he's the only one who regularly calls - but surprisingly, it was Jenny. Because Donnelly was rude, I figured it was okay for me to be rude, so I answered.

"Hey Blondie. What's up?"

"How was the interview?" she screamed.

"Omigod. I'm so sorry! I forgot to call!" I thumped myself on the head. "I got the job," I told her while at the same time placing the garlic bread and remainder of the zitti on the seat next to me. Donnelly was too busy eating to notice.

She whooped. "She got the job! Blaine! She got the job!"

Blaine got on the phone. "Hey, Red. Congratulations."

"Your advice worked perfectly."

"That's because I know what I'm talking about. We're laying over in New York tonight. Let's go out and celebrate."

I looked at Donnelly, who was shoving food in his mouth like he hadn't eaten in a year. So classy. So very, very classy. "I have a date. I'm sorry."

"Of course you do," I heard Blaine smile. "No worries. We can reschedule; we're here again next week."

"Cool. I'll call you tomorrow and tell you more about it. Gotta go. Give Blondie my love."

"Will do. Later, Red."

"See you, bring the pain Blaine." I ended the call, put the phone up, and returned the food to the table.

"Did you just tell somebody that you couldn't meet up because of me?" He grinned, giving me a great view of the remains of tomatoes that were in his teeth. "I'm flattered."

I dished out my serving and took two pieces of bread. "I know what you're doing."

"What's that, McIver? What am I doing?"

"You're being purposefully rude in order to get me to like you more. My brothers did it all the time."

"I'm being rude?" He burped. "Whoa, I tasted that." Then he pounded on his chest with his fist and burped again. "Man. Now I'm better."

I continued eating like he hadn't done something so disgusting in front of me. "I have five brothers. I watched them pull this shit all the time on girls they liked."

"Oh, I get it. You think I'm doing that whole treat a princess like a whore and a whore like a princess thing, right?" He shook his head. "Nah. I'm not that deep. I'm just giving you the full Donnelly, so you know what you're getting right up front."

"Yeah. Whatever." I dug into my food. I had to admit that it was delicious. "So where'd you go to law school, Donnelly?"

"Iowa. Full ride." He stretched out his arms again and looked smug. "I'll have you know I was Order of the Coif."

I feigned like I was unimpressed, even though I was kind of impressed. Order of the Coif was reserved for the top ten graduates. Not top 10%, but top 10, as in one through ten. "So? It's a state school. It's not like it's a peer."

He frowned. "The law's the law, toots."

I smirked; someone was insecure about his education. I decided to expand on that. "So did you decide on public service when you realized that your Iowa Law education wasn't going to catapult you into Big Law?"

"Nope. I knew I was going to be a Fed." He paused for effect. "But I did do my 2L summer associate position at the esteemed McIver Group."

I dropped my fork. "Liar!" I shouted.

"Calm down, McIver. I did. I worked in the criminal appeals division under the supervision of one Edward McIver. Better known as Ned."

"Liar!" I shouted again.

He raised his right hand. "I swear on J.Edgar Hoover's grave, I was a summer associate. I never met you, though. I think you were at an equestrian camp or something." He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "I liked your father. Never met a better lawyer."

I stared, unable to speak. I had been struck mute.

"Damn shame that he was murdered. I always wondered how you and your brothers could even stand looking at Leland, let alone defend him."

I couldn't either, but I was never consulted.

"Ned McIver was a force to be reckoned with," he went on. "I wonder how'd he feel if he knew you were getting ready to marry Alexander Cosetino?"

"He'd hate it," I said out loud, then covered my mouth.

He dropped his smile and turned serious. "I think he would, too. I know you hate it."

My head shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"I believe you when you say you tried to break up with him," he answered quietly. "And then there's this flight attendant job, which is so obviously an attempt at escape you might as well wear a sign. You want out so bad, it's oozing from your pores." He poured himself the rest of the chianti. "Damn, McIver. When I met you in South Bend, you were a force of nature. Now, you're so damned depressed I don't even know how you function."

"I'm not depressed," I denied. "I'm so not depressed. I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Liar," he replied, reaching across the booth for my zitti.

I raised my fork defensively. "Do that again and I will cut you."

He leaned forward onto the table. "What does he have on you? Why aren't you fighting? You want to be a lawyer? Be a lawyer. Shit, call up Jack. He's a good guy, he'd help you. Where's the girl that blows up human traffickers? I know she's in there."

"Is this a date or an interrogation?" I asked. "Because I'm feeling like it's an interrogation."

"Maybe it's a little of both," he said. "Maybe you need someone to say it to you." He resumed eating. "It's like you said, McIver. You come from a line of people who managed to survive forced starvation to become one of the most successful law firms in American legal history. That takes strength of character. The Siobhan McIver I know wouldn't let anybody force her into doing anything she didn't want to do."

Well, that struck a nerve. Suddenly I wasn't having fun anymore. I scooted out of the booth. "I need to go. I need to think."

He reached for my hand. "Don't run away, Siobhan."

"No, I need..."

"Stay and have tiramisu with me." He held my hand lightly. "Buttercup, please. Sit." He gestured at the food. "Manga."

I stared at him. "You called me buttercup. Like the princess bride."

He gazed at me, unusually sincere. "You're a princess, about to marry a prince who really is quite evil, and in doing so you're about to squander your chance at true love."

That got me; I grinned from ear to ear. "I love the Princess Bride!"

"Every girl loves the Princess Bride." That deeply fond expression reappeared. "Please, sit. I promise, no more taunting."

I studied him. "Promise?"

He kissed my hand. "As you wish."

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

Aw, it's like that scene in Lady and the Tramp when they're sharing pasta... so freaking cute. But Siobhan's getting married, and why does it feel like Donnelly's got something up his sleeve?

Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018

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