The Deal
Everyone gets a secret Loyalty, a secret racket, a hand of cards, and three glasses poured from the Cellar. One of you is a cop. One of you is a rat. The rest are la famiglia. Nobody knows who.
A card game of dinner & deception
First Printing
★★★★★ 4.9 — 212 dinners on record. Nobody talked.
First printing · Fall 2026 · Ships in an unmarked box
Also available at: nowhere. This is the only place. Tell no one.
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 check arrives.
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.
Use your wit, your deduction, and your well-placed threats. Because when the bill comes due, the driest glasses at the table will stand trial before la famiglia. Someone is getting whacked tonight.
One of you is an undercover cop — who has to stay sharp in case things get ugly.
One of you is a rat, bought and paid for by a rival family.
Eat, play, accuse, and watch who's drinking.
Most glasses when the bill lands gets crowned the Don.
Some are playing to win. Others are playing to lose. Everybody's hungry.
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 he has to stay sharp if tonight turns ugly (… and it will). He'll be trying not to drink nearly as much as everybody else.
It won't be easy to spot him, though. Another member of la famiglia has been bought by la famiglia's rival crime family, and the rat would love for anyone but the cop to get whacked. So eat. Drink. Laugh. Because when the bill comes, the driest glasses are going to have some explaining to do.
Everyone gets a secret Loyalty, a secret racket, a hand of cards, and three glasses poured from the Cellar. One of you is a cop. One of you is a rat. The rest are la famiglia. Nobody knows who.
Throughout the night we're squashing beefs, running jobs, and trying to figure out who to trust. No turns — play a card whenever the moment is right.
When the check hits the table, it's over. Glasses get counted and the driest guests stand trial. The table votes, loyalties flip, and someone is getting whacked.
La famiglia has some problems… and no one knows who to trust.
Tell your stories. Lie. Swear on your mother. Just don't get caught.
Throughout the night you'll squash beefs, do favors, and uphold the family code. Everyone is trying to become the Don — except for the undercover cop, who is trying to lay low.
The family code that cannot be broken.
Place marks on people you suspect.
Settle things faccia a faccia.
Full table operations.
Get a nickname — everyone's got one.
Give favors… with bad intentions.
Nobody says another player's name.
Article one at most tables. It lasts about four minutes.
Nobody says the words "cop," "rat," or "wire."
The most famous law in the deck. Also the hardest night of your life.
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.
They drink holding their glass with both hands, like a child with warm milk.
Sits face-up in front of them. Sweat accordingly.
You're Two-Times now. You end every sentence by repeating its last word, its last word.
You've been christened. Congratulations were sent.
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.
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.
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.
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."
Every dinner ends differently. When the table goes to trial you draw one Last Rites card, and it decides how the accused get to plead.
One minute each to talk their way out of it.
One sentence each. Then, on three, everybody points.
Make your case without saying anything at all.
No defending yourself. Only accusing the other two.
Pick somebody to throw one of the others under the bus.
Name a player to vouch for you. Out loud, they may refuse.
★★★★★"I watched my wife nurse one glass all night. 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
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.
No. Dinner is our favorite place to play, but you can play anywhere!
One meal. The game runs in the background of a real dinner and re-enters attention every so often without taking over. When the bill hits the table, it's over — the check is the clock.
No! Although there are some similarities like a trial at the end, the games during the middle are what makes this different. Plus, there can be multiple winners. There is always a Don, and the cop can win too.
Encouraged. Say anything. Swear on your mother. Loyalties stay face-down until the end, so you can claim anything and prove nothing.
The box, a dinner, and 5–10 people who love each other enough to accuse each other of treason over pasta. No pens, no phones, no bookkeeping.
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 game you won't stop talking about.
First printing · Fall 2026
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