With her usual cheerful smile, Sandy greeted the evening doorman at the Paramount Hotel. Even with only three full days into her five day trip, the whole staff seemed to know her. That was somehow both flattering and a bit worrying at the same time; but for the most part, Sandy tried to assume the best, as she always did. On the up side, the pool boy knew that she liked frozen banana daiquiris when she went to the pool, and the servers at the restaurant knew that she took her coffee black and that she liked a nightcap of Drambuie. What else they might know; well, she tried not to think about that too much. 

In the lobby, a very tall man in a suit came to his feet as Sandy crossed the fine Persian rug toward the elevator. At nearly seven feet tall, he towered over her as he approached. His voice had a deep, reverberating baritone.

"Sandy Sullivan?"

Stopping very quickly at the sound of her name, Sandy turned and found herself staring at the buttons of a shirt behind a sports coat. Leading with her green eyes, she looked up; and up, and up until she saw the lean, square face and salt-and-peppered hair of the largest human being she'd ever seen.

"Um, well, yes, that's me."

The man nodded once and seemed to try and smile.

"I'm Franco Rossi. Can I speak with you?"

For a moment, Sandy hesitated. She didn't know this man; why did he know her? Was he someone attached to the Ligambi family? Was he someone Billy sent? Was he an officer? She looked him over quickly, but didn't see a badge or gun visible. 'Well, best cooperate until you know more' she decided. Smiling, she tilted her head a bit.

"Certainly."

The exceptionally tall man led Sandy toward the bar that was attached to the lobby. There were very few patrons there, and in the back was a two-top that was set well away from everyone else. Franco pulled out a chair for Sandy, then took a seat in the corner after unbuttoning his coat. Sandy kept her purse looped around her arm, unsure how long this conversation would last, and sat very still and very straight in her chair.

Franco picked up on her anxiousness and held up a hand gently. 

"I'm not a cop."

Sandy's shoulders relaxed a little.

"Alright, Mr. Rossi, since you already know my name, we can skip that part. Is there something I can do for you?"

The man sat quietly for a moment, his eyes looking at her, then looking down at the table as if he were searching for something. Finally, he spoke again.

"You can get out of this. Sell your place in Detroit, change your name, and disappear. Just...get out."

Taken by surprise, Sandy blinked a few times. She noticed the fingers of Franco's right hand curled tightly into his palm. Something was upsetting him; something personal.

"Mr. Rossi, I'm afraid I don't understand."

He shook his head.

"This isn't the world you should be in, Sandy. Miss Sullivan. You're a nice lady- a young lady. You've got a whole life ahead of you, and plenty of talent. They'll...this will get you killed."

Sandy felt a pang in her stomach as she looked at this man sitting in front of her. He looked like he could crush a Lincoln between his palms, but at the same time looked like someone had run over his dog. Sandy's eyes softened.

"Mr. Rossi, did someone send you here?"

Franco sighed heavily and put his forearms on the table, looking down at them for a moment.

"No. I saw you at Billy Mastrosimone's house. I keep an eye on him as a favor to an old friend; a friend that is gone."

Sandy saw the older man's eyes turning red and glisten at the corners, but he shook his head again, refusing to let any tears come.

"She didn't have to. She didn't belong to this fucking mess, she never should have. And you shouldn't either. That's why I'm here. To tell you to go home. Go find a better place, before you don't have a choice anymore."

Without knowing a thing about what happened to Franco Rossi, Sandy reached across the little table and put her tiny little hands on Franco's. She'd seen this before. She'd been here before.

"Oh, Mr. Rossi, I'm so very sorry for your loss. It's just awful to lose people you love. I know, I lost both my parents in about the worst way anyone could imagine; and it hurts because there wasn't a thing I could do about it. But it's not your fault. 

Franco froze for a second, then looked up at the young woman. How the fuck did she know anything? She couldn't know- could she? But...she seemed to know something. She smiled softly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Franco hadn't talked to anyone since that night. Garrett Mitchell had tried a dozen times to get him to talk, but he wouldn't. Old soldier and all that. But Miss Sullivan- she was a stranger. A kind stranger, sure; so what did he have to lose? He took a deep breath.

"Do you drink whiskey?"

Sandy's smile widened a little.

"Kinda."