5Antonio, meanwhile, walked over to his manager, who was waiting by the bar. “Puttanesca,” he told him.
Benito nodded. “Va.”
When Antonio entered the kitchen, the bartender shifted over. “You know who that is?” he asked, pointing at Mr. Scott.
“Of course I do. I know a few of his friends.”
“Violent people, eh?”
“Yes, violent indeed. That’s why I leave them alone.”
Benito kept his eye on the old woman, who, out of some tragic coincidence, was seated at the table adjacent to Mr. Scott. The owners of DiRossini’s were blissfully unaware of the damage she had wreaked; he had concealed it well. But if Mr. Scott were to learn of her senseless tirades, Benito would likely lose his job, along with all the money and connections he had. Then he’d have nothing, and Antonio would have no reason to stay with him. With whom, then, would he share his apartment – his shower? Who would satisfy his cravings, his unreciprocated desires? No one. He would be as alone as the geriatric gentlewoman he was ready to kill.