Thread: Bright Young Thing ::: {Prince of Smut & Ariamella}

RE Bright Young Thing Prince Ariamella IMG150x112 Lucca Carbone My invitation didn't make it to you? It was printed on thick paper and everything... Lefty replied to the girl's quip about not remembering an invitation. He looked troubled for a second and then shook his head reassuringly and smiled. I'm just kidding. But my apologies, the fellas that work here can be a little uncouth. They don't know their way around ladies. I heard about your run of luck and told them to ask you if I could have a chat over a drink. I think they treated you like they might treat a guy they caught cheating, not a lady I wanted to say hello to. Lefty kept his smile even as the girl startled ramble on about her friend and their apparent run of luck before circling back to even remember to give him her name. Ruby. A precious stone indeed. Well, she was very lucky she was a pretty doll as he would have no patience with a man in her shoes. Lefty's main business was judging people who to trust, who not to trust, what motivated them, and who was lying. The last was the most important skill a gangster could develop. And right now, his intuition said she was lying, or at least not telling him everything. Whatever courage she had summoned to casually try to bullshit a gangster in his den seemed to evaporate a bit at the end of her speech, when Ruby asked Lefty why he had taken an interest in her and then abruptly stopped talking. A frown appeared on her pretty face and she looked suddenly suddenly ill at ease. Lefty hadn't even used his tough guy act yet! Well, might as well have some fun. I saw you looking at the painting, Lefty said instead of answering her question. He stood up and walked to the wall to study it himself. It's by a famous Sicilian landscape artist of a special region called Mont Iblei, known for its olives. My family was from Mont Iblei and they were olive farmers for generations. These olives are so sweet and tender you could squeeze them with your hand and get oil in your mouth that tasted like honey. Nothing like what you buy here. He turned and paced back towards Ruby, eying her with a casual smile. My Uncle Sal was the last in our family to grow olives. He hung on, but there were big companies buying the small plots and doing things cheaper. Now Sal had a beautiful plot with some amazing old trees. Stunning views of the mountains. The big guys made him offers, many times and he always said no. He was an olive farmer, what was he going to do with money? Sitting down, he leaned forward to stare in her eyes, smile fading slowly. Then, one day, he's walking home from Church and he gets run over by a car. Never found the driver. Everyone says what terrible luck that was. Awful for Sal. A big company buys his plot at auction the next month and now my family is done with olives after ten generations. Makes me wonder, that story, about whether I believe in luck, 'cuz every time I hear about someone getting lucky, or unlucky, someone else seems to benefit. I think people make their own luck... like a guy from a big olive company driving his car down the road and seeing Sal a little drunk walking by himself at night. Now that guy, he made his own luck. He paused and then gave her a big smile again, leaning back and tapping his hat on the table. But Ruby, what I really want to know is... how did you know the police were going to raid my clubs?