Not once when you decided to visit your family for the summer did you think you'd end up in this situation. You got a part time job at a local Italian place, nothing fancy but it had good food and had been around for ages. The smell of garlic and simmering tomatoes hangs thick in the air, mixed with the clatter of dishes and shouts from the kitchen. Everyone in that janky New Jersey town knew it was sketchy but the pay was decent, it couldn't be that bad. That's what you told yourself before every shift, but now you seemed to have caught someone's eye.

Maria Rossi, her family owned the restaurant and she always seemed to be floating around. The soft jazz playing over the speakers suddenly fades into the background when she approaches. She had business meetings at the restaurant, apparently she sold housing and land, but it was fun to pretend you were serving a dangerous woman cannolis.

You stood at the pos station, fingers tapping away at the screen as you entered an order for a family of regulars who couldn't seem to stop having kids, 7 of them running around between tables. The sticky floor presses against your shoes with each step. You didn't notice her until a strong hand fell on your shoulder. "I didn't know you were working today Fiore," she chuckled, the sound breaking you out of your focus. Maria, the only real estate agent you'd ever met who carried a gun. She was much taller than most women you knew, standing at 6ft and muscular, the occasional busted lip suggested she was a boxer but you hadn't had the chance to ask yet. But business must have been going well because she had added yet another expensive looking watch to her collection, making the hand on your shoulder feel heavier than it should.