All the Way by Jennifer Probst Page A

to convince her to do a second review.”
    Brando snorted. “She never does second reviews. Get over it.”
    She bit her lip hard.
    “So you’ve been reminding me. What’s the trouble with table four?”
    “They want me to bring over a side of sauce for their linguini.”
    “So?”
    “They’re having the linguini with garlic and oil.”
    Gavin winced. “You can’t put sauce over that type of dish.”
    “Yeah, but they’re not Italian. They don’t get it. Anyway, Tony refuses to give them the sauce. Says it will ruin his reputation.”
    Gavin shook his head. “I’ll talk to him.”
    “Hey, can I work the bar?”
    “You’re under age.”
    The famous pout rested on Brando’s lips. “I won’t drink, I just want to serve. I’m sick of waiting tables.”
    Gavin sighed and turned to her. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to get some things settled with the staff.”
    “Sure, go ahead. I’ll sit at the bar.”
    The brothers left the room and a grin tugged at her lips. She’d never seen this side of her old lover. Watching him not so in control of the elements made him more approachable. Human. A flare of hope ignited. Was it possible to get a second chance?
    Or did Gavin just want to save his family restaurant?
    Miranda pushed away the disturbing question and headed toward the bar.
    …
    He wasn’t happy.
    Miranda threw back her head and laughed at something the bartender said. A rush of possessiveness settled over him, and his hands clenched around the china as he fought the urge to howl and drag her away. He knew Dominick was happily married, but it didn’t stop the man’s gaze from roaming appreciatively over her body. And he seemed to lean in a bit too close when he spoke.
    “No, I asked for the chicken Parmesan,” Gavin’s customer told him as he set the plate down.
    “I’m sorry, my mistake.” He shook his head to clear it and switched the plates to their correct positions. “Can I get you another glass of wine?”
    “No, thanks, Gavin. How about some more bread?”
    He nodded. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Diamonte.”
    Gavin muttered a curse as he hurried back to the kitchen. He’d invited her out for a romantic evening and ended up taking over the role of waiter. He was going to kill Brando. His half-hour break now stretched to over an hour. Probably making out with Tracey in the car, and God knows that could take forever. Gavin glanced once more to his date, but she seemed perfectly at ease with Dominick’s company. And Antonio’s. And Pop’s. Hell, even the singer he hired stopped to introduce himself and chat. Everyone seemed to get a chance to enjoy her company except him.
    The smell of smoke made him turn left. He stopped at the corner table where Pop and his Sinatra crew played cards, drank wine, and snuck cigarettes. When had he become the straight one in the family? “Pop, what are you doing?”
    His father waved him off. “Cosmo isn’t hurting anyone by having a quick smoke.”
    Gavin crossed his arms over his chest and gave him his best hard ass stare. The other members of the group ignored him and concentrated on their hand. Cosmo was second in charge, evident in his appearance. A thick gray mustache set off a face that would make any gangster proud, but he’d gone bald years ago. His thick black glasses hid a sharp gaze that had run a successful place in Little Italy, before he gave it up to his two sons and hung out with his posse across town.
    “Cigarettes kill you. Gives you cancer, stroke, and heart attack. Is that what you all want?”
    Cosmo snorted in a cloud of smoke. “Sinatra smoked every day of his life and made it into his nineties. This world has become too soft.”
    The third member of the group, Vinnie, nodded. Instead of wine, his fingers clasped the tiny shot glasses of Grappa. Gavin always wondered how the man walked straight. The grainy Italian liquor was hard-core, and he drank it all night long without even a slight buzz marring his poker