It was funny, though. If it was Simone's car, she had to sit next to him. But in anyone else's car, at any other gathering, she never mentioned carsickness. She'd take whatever seat was offered and never say a word about it.
The restaurant was one of those places the Families used for sit-downs when they wanted neutral ground that still felt expensive. White tablecloths. Heavy silverware. A private room in the back where the staff knew not to enter without knocking twice. By the time we arrived, all of Simone's men were already there, seated around the long table like soldiers awaiting orders. Rocco Valente. Dario Ferretti. Luca. A few others from the crew who'd been present when the remarks were made.
Rocco came over first. He greeted me with a nod that was barely a nod, then pulled out the chair beside him and gestured for me to sit. "Grazia. I'll be the first to apologize."