Vicious Minds: Part 2 (Children of Vice 5)

I rolled my eyes. “The pancakes at le Morceau D’ambre are overrated.”

“Don’t tell me that! I’ve already made the reservation.”

“You should have asked.”

“Well, I didn’t because I wanted it to be a surprise. So, you are just going to have to sit there and eat them again as I decide if they are overrated,” she huffed, getting off the interstate.

“And here I thought we were going to actually get serious work done this morning,” I muttered, looking out at my city.

On the main streets were numerous militarized police, with their armored cars on what seemed like every other corner. Calliope drastically reduced her speed, now following the road laws. But other than that, she pretended as if she did not see them. This was not the time for a date, so I was sure this wasn’t just a date, though the fact that she brought it up in the way she had meant she wanted dates. This was new.

“And we are here with four minutes to spare. That’s why I took the Bugatti,” she said in front of the restaurant.

The valet came to my door.

“What is step two of this plan?” I asked.

“Eat, of course. Come on,” she replied, stepping out of the car.

When I stepped out, the valet’s eyes widened as he looked at me with confusion. As if we were the very last people in the world he ever expected to see. Calliope walked around the car, linking her elbow with mine.

“Just let it sit there. I’ve already spoken to the owner,” she told him.

That feeling that something was off came back with might as he nodded, nearly tripping over himself as he went to the back.

I did not say anything as we walked inside the restaurant only to see—every fucking other rich and powerful Irish family already sitting, laughing, and talking amongst themselves. That was until they noticed us. Then, as if the devil himself had slit their throats, they sat in their seats like frozen cadavers. Which was perplexing to me for several reasons. One, I was the wealthiest and most powerful Irish family of them all, so why were they shocked to see me here? Two, why were they all here to begin with, when most of them hated each other? Three, didn’t they know how to fakes manners, at the very least? Staring at us made them all look guilty of something. Four…were they guilty of something?

I glanced over at the only person who could clear my confusion, but she was too busy talking to the red-haired hostess.

“I’m sorry, ma’am but all of our tables are full—”

“We’ve made a reservation. Table nine, by the windows,” Calliope demanded as she gave the hostess her coat and gloves.

The hostess stared at her, confused; however, a tall, square-jawed man with light-colored eyes behind circular-framed glasses and brown hair came forward. But the glasses were hardly enough to make him unrecognizable.

“Mrs. Callahan,” the man said loudly, so loudly, everyone else at the tables could also hear. “A sight far too great for us mere mortals as always, my restaurant is honored by your presence.”

Calliope giggled, holding onto my arm. “Ethan, this smooth talker is—”

“Vinnie Napolitano,” I answered, already knowing the man’s face. “I was not aware you were the owner here.”

Because he wasn’t, or at least, the last I checked. The owner here was a small old French woman who swore she would never sell her business in the local paper.

“It was a recent acquisition. Welcome, Mr. Callahan, I shall show you and your wife to your table.” He nodded, taking the menus from the server who came up and led us through the crowd, to the only free table, elevated from the rest, near the windows.

I stepped forward, pulling out the seat for Calliope before taking my own place opposite her. It was only now because the gloves were off her hands, that I notice the red diamond engagement ring she had on her finger. She had chosen not to wear it, yet, mostly due to the uproar my family was still having. She said she was waiting for the perfect moment to show off the great, red-diamond ring of Melody Giovanni. It seemed today was that day.

But why? Was the question I thought as our eyes locked.

“Your menus. Is there anything we may start you off with to drink? Perhaps some Wuyi Oolong Vintage Narcissus tea or Esmeralda Gesha?” Vinnie asked us passionately as if he had been a restaurateur his whole life and not a military muscle man.

“Oh, I would love some Esmeralda Gesha.” She grinned, and he looked at me.

I nodded. “The same.”

“Right away.” He nodded to the server who was waiting behind him.

“Vinnie, I know you’re busy, but today you are all so packed, what’s going on?” Calliope questioned.