“If his eyes don’t leave your tits, I’m coming over and punching him in the face,” Andre says in the earpiece I’m wearing, hidden by my hair. I’m in his line of sight as he sits at a table about fifteen feet behind me and can picture his brows furrowed in total frustration. “Valenti, get it together,” another man Andre introduced to me as a coworker named Nico Mancini says. “Do you fucking see him?” “Kind of the point, man. If her tits are out, he can’t concentrate on his lies.” I take a sip of my wine to try and hide my laugh.
