The Deal
Everyone gets a secret Loyalty, a secret racket called Off the Books, a hand of cards, and three glasses poured from the Cellar — the stash in the middle of the table. One of you is a cop. One of you is a rat. Nobody knows who.
A card game of dinner & deception
The
SIT-DOWN
First Printing
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★★★★★ 4.9 — 212 dinners on record. Nobody talked.
$29.99 $34.99
- One undercover cop, one rat, and a table full of suspects
- Teaches in 90 seconds, runs in the background of the meal
- 90 play cards, 8 loyalties, secret rackets, a cellar of contraband
- No pens, no phones, no bookkeeping — no mercy
First printing · Fall 2026 · Ships in an unmarked box
Also available at: nowhere. This is the only place. Tell no one.
4–8 Players
14+Ages 14+
One Dinner
The Pitch
Eat. Play. Accuse.
You are a member of the inner circle — but all is not as it seems. Someone at this table is singing to the coppers, and the Don needs answers before the espresso hits the table.
The Sit-Down runs in the background of a real dinner. All night you play cards between bites — enforcing the Code, starting Beefs, christening Nicknames, pouring Favors — while glasses of wine change hands. The meal is the board. The check is the clock.
Use your wit, your deduction, and your well-placed threats. Because when the bill comes due, the driest glasses at the table stand trial before la famiglia.
One of you is an undercover cop — and a cop can't drink on the job.
One of you is a rat, bought and paid for by a rival family.
Cards move the wine all night. Watch who's drinking.
Most glasses when the bill lands gets crowned the Don.
How a Night Goes
Learn it in 90 seconds.
Learn it in 90 seconds.
Distrust everyone forever.
No turns. No moderator. No phones, no pens, no bookkeeping — wine and face-up cards are the entire interface.
The Dinner
No turns — play a card whenever the moment is right. But everybody eats: nobody plays their second until the whole table has played their first. Laws, Beefs, Jobs, suspiciously generous Favors. Watch who's drinking.
The Bill
The check hits the table and it's over. Rackets flip and score. Glasses get counted. The driest guests stand trial, the table votes, Loyalties flip — and the most glasses is crowned the Don.
Tonight la famiglia — this city's most feared crime family — gathers at the express request of the Don. Everyone knows why: there's an undercover cop among you, and if tonight turns ugly (it will), the dirty copper has to stay sharp. He won't be drinking nearly as much as everybody else.
It won't be easy to spot him, though. Another member of la famiglia has been bought by the family across the river, and they'd love for anyone but the cop to get caught. So eat. Drink. Laugh. Because when the bill comes, the driest glasses are going to have some explaining to do.
— The Don
Dealt Face-Down · Buried till the Bill
One table. Three agendas.
The backs are identical. So are your poker faces — allegedly. Tap a card to see who you might be tonight.
Table talk is free. Lie. Swear on your mother. Loyalties stay face-down until the end — claim anything, prove nothing.
The Deck
Seven suits of trouble.
Six of them sit in your hand. The seventh — the Contracts — sits face-up in the middle of the table, open to whoever gets there first. Every card still in your hand when the bill lands costs you a glass: unfinished business.
The house rule that governs all of it: every violation costs the violator 1 glass, and it goes back to the Cellar — never to the player who caught it. Nobody profits from a catch, so nobody fights over who spotted it.
×20
The Code
Table laws, three articles at a time. Omertà, first names, no elbows. Break one and you pour a glass back to the Cellar.
×12
The Mark
Pressure on one player, face-up in front of them. Every Mark carries an escape clause — win a Beef, make a catch, or wait for the next victim.
×20
Beefs
Undeclinable head-to-heads — staring contests, impressions, dares, questions you have to answer. The loser pays the winner directly.
×6
Jobs
Full-table operations — everybody points, everybody toasts, everybody counts. Rare on purpose, so they stay events.
×10
Nicknames
You get christened. The family remembers two at a time — christen a third and the oldest one retires.
×8
Favors
Generosity as a weapon. Poured from the Cellar, so it costs the giver nothing — and a cop can't accept the wine that blows his cover.
×14
Contracts
A center stack, never in hands. One sits face-up belonging to nobody — first player to fulfill it claims 2 glasses, then the next one flips.
90 cards
One deck. One night.
Hands scale with the table — four to six cards each — so every dinner plays in the same window.
Cards from the table
← drag / scroll →
The Code
"First Names"
Nobody says another player's name.
Article one at most tables. It lasts about four minutes.
The Code
"Omertà"
Nobody says the words "cop," "rat," or "wire."
The most famous law in the deck. Also the hardest night of your life.
Beef
"The Stare"
You and a player of your choice. The table counts down from three. First to blink, look away, or laugh loses.
Beefs cannot be declined. This is a family of principle.
The Mark
"Two Hands"
They drink holding their glass with both hands, like a child with warm milk.
Sits face-up in front of them. Sweat accordingly.
Nickname
"Two-Times"
You're Two-Times now. You end every sentence by repeating its last word, its last word.
You've been christened. Congratulations were sent.
Nickname
"Lucky"
You're Lucky now. Cancel any card the moment it's played. Say "not tonight."
A power, not a persona — hold it until you spend it.
Favor
"Drink, Drink"
Order any player to accept 2 glasses from the Cellar, right now, in front of everyone. They can't refuse.
In this family, a favor is never just a favor.
Job
"The Point"
Fill in the blank out loud — "most likely to ___" — and declare whether it's an honor or an insult. On three, everyone points.
A full-table operation. The Don sends his regards.
Contract
"The Legislator"
Have a law YOU enacted catch three different players.
Open to the whole table. First one there gets paid.
Off the Books
"Never win a Beef tonight."
Keep it face-down. Score it when the bill comes due — then wave it around as your alibi.
"I threw that staring contest because of THIS."
In the Box
Everything but the dinner.
Contents
- 90×Play CardsCode · Beefs · Marks · Jobs · Nicknames · Favors — plus the Contract stack for the middle of the table
- 8×Loyalty CardsExactly one badge. Exactly one envelope.
- 20×Off the Books CardsSecret rackets. Doubles as your alibi.
- 8×Last Rites CardsEight ways to run a trial.
- 60×Contraband TokensThe wine. Your score sits in front of you, where everyone can count it.
- 1×House RulesTeaches in 90 seconds. Argues all night.
- 0×DinnerBring your own. Absolution also not included.
Last Rites — try tonight's draw
Every dinner ends differently. Three trial formats hit the table; the player with the most glasses picks how the accused stand trial.
Silent Trial
The accused plead without words.
Character Witness
Each accused appoints a player to speak for them.
Cross-Examination
Each accused asks one other accused one question.
Last Words
Exactly ten words each. Count them.
The Alibi
The accused may reveal their rackets as evidence.
The Recount
Account for every pour, in and out.
Point the Finger
No self-defense — accuse another accused.
Kiss the Ring
Beg the Don. Tonight their vote counts double.
Word on the Street
The witnesses are talking.
4.9212 dinners on record
★★★★★"I watched my wife nurse one glass for three courses. Divorce? No. Arrest? Also no. She was just tired. I accused her anyway."
— Sal · Patriarch, probably innocent
★★★★★"Got nicknamed 'The Accountant' at 7:40. By 9:00 I was running the table. The system works."
— Bobby Two Napkins · Capo
★★★★★"Lost a staring contest to my nonna. Docked one star, one glass, and what remained of my dignity."
— Gia · Capo (demoted)
★★★★★"As an undercover officer I can confirm this game is wildly unrealistic and should not be studied by anyone."
— A Totally Normal Dinner Guest
★★★★★"I was innocent."
— Name withheldReply from the management: that's what the last guy said.
★★★★★"We never found the rat. The rat paid for dinner. We said thank you. We tipped."
— The whole table · Collectively
Questions from the Back of the Room
Frequently interrogated questions.
Do we actually have to drink?
No. The tokens are pours you've won — the count is what scores, and drinking is entirely optional. That keeps the game inclusive for anyone at the table. It also means "he's not touching his glass" is a tell anyone can spot from across the room. Which is the point.
How long does a game take?
One meal. The game runs in the background of a real dinner and re-enters attention every ten minutes without taking over. When the bill hits the table, it's over — the check is the clock.
Isn't this just Mafia at a restaurant?
Cousins, not twins. There's no moderator, no elimination, and nobody closes their eyes. The deduction runs on who's drinking, not who's talking — and all night you're playing cards: enacting laws, starting beefs, pouring weaponized favors. Plus the Rat wants la famiglia to whack the wrong person, so the night fills with false positives.
Who ends up on trial?
When the bill comes, secret rackets flip and score first — payouts can shove someone into or out of the dock. Then the glasses get counted and the driest answer to la famiglia: the bottom three at six or more players, the bottom two at four or five. The accused plead under tonight's Last Rites format, everyone else votes, and the Loyalties flip.
What if I get caught and can't pay?
Every violation costs the same thing — 1 glass, back to the Cellar. It never goes to whoever caught you, so nobody profits from a catch and nobody fights over who spotted it first.
And nobody ever goes below zero. If you can't pay, the catcher assigns you a job on the spot — refill the glasses, flag the waiter, surrender your bread. The debt converts to labor, publicly. Very dignified.
Can I lie?
Encouraged. Say anything. Swear on your mother. Loyalties stay face-down until the end, so you can claim anything and prove nothing. The cards supply permission and excuses — your table supplies the comedy.
What do I need to play?
The box, a dinner, and 4–8 people who love each other enough to accuse each other of treason over pasta. No pens, no phones, no bookkeeping.
Tonight, la famiglia eats together.
Every night crowns a Don. Some nights the cop walks and the rat gets paid on top of it — one dinner, up to three winners, and a story you'll re-litigate at the next one.
First printing · Fall 2026 · Playtest tables now seating