VIOLETA
When I am nervous, I have a tendency or a habit of either biting my nails, lower lip, or tapping my fingers. As I am looking around the restaurant, everything seems so normal, and everyone who is in here does not look like a bodyguard. They are all at their tables, eating meals, and having conversations. I cannot even tell who is keeping an eye on our table here.
Yes, I am seated in front of Apollo who has been looking at me like he cannot fathom that I really came after he asked me so many times on f*******: messenger. We have been sitting quietly for almost ten minutes, and I am not comfortable.
“So, uhm… on the night of the mafia gala event. Who did you come with there?” He asks, rubbing his hands like someone uneasy.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters to me, Violeta. Y
