A Mafia boss in a suit sat across from me in Burgerland.
I stifled a giggle at how silly Constantino looked in a fast-food joint and popped a fry into my mouth, burning the sensitive skin of my palate. Constantino belonged in a high-end restaurant with five-hundred-dollar plates. Not sitting in a colorful plastic booth.
But he didn’t seem like he minded that much.
that “I could’ve taken you somewhere nicer,” he said, scarfing down his burger.
“This is fine for me,” I said. “This was my favorite food, growing up.”
He chuckled. “Burgers and fries?”
“Hey, don’t make fun of me.” I giggled. “My family was low-income, so it was a treat to eat out at a restaurant like this. It … brings me back. My parents might not have had a lot, but they tried for me.”
When he didn’t say much—not that I
