“Fine.” He didn’t seem interested in lingering on small talk. “I have heard that your home was broken into last night. Are you all right?”
Concern laced his words.
“Yes, thank you for checking. It was scary, but it’s over.”
“I would like to invite you and your friend, Mr. Green, for dinner at Casale’s tonight. I have some things I would like to talk with you about, but not over the phone.”
“Oh.” I paused. “That’s very kind of you. Gray is in Atlantic City today visiting his father, but should be back by dinner.”
“You are alone?” He sounded concerned. “I will have Frank come and stay with you, wherever you are.”
I frowned. Why would he want Frank to stay with me? “I am with my friends. I promise I am well supervised.”
I heard his laugh through the phone. “You can’t trick a mother,” he said. “I am glad you are with others, for it is not safe for you right now on your own. Have your friends join you as well.”
Christy was watching me as she screwed the top back on the nail polish bottle. I pasted a fake smile in the hopes to hide that I was worried by Mr. Casale’s words. What did he know that I didn’t? He obviously thought I was still in danger if he would send Frank to watch over me.
“You’re sure it’s all right to come?” I didn’t mean about eating, but about showing up at the restaurant and remaining safe, not that Christy would know that.
“Yes, my restaurant, I assure you, is quite safe. You, as well. As I said before, you took care of Marco, so I will take care of you.”
“Then there will be four of us.”
“Good. Seven then,” he replied, then hung up.
I tossed my phone back in the bag.
“What are we doing tonight?” Christy asked.
“We’re going to dinner at Casale’s.”
“Casale’s? I’ve always wanted to eat there. That’s right, you said you met the owner.”
“Who’s going to Casale’s?” Paul asked as he came in from the kitchen. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to release a crick. “I hate conference calls,” he muttered.
“We are. With Emory.”
Paul’s brow went up.
“And Gray. I hope that’s okay,” I said. “Mr. Casale wants to talk with me about something.”
“You know who he is, don’t you?” Paul asked, dropping down into an overstuffed chair that sat perpendicular to the sofa.
“Sure.”
“I don’t mean restaurant owner.”
I frowned and Paul leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, much like Gray did.
“He’s a made man.”
“You mean the mafia?” Christy asked, her voice full of awe.
Paul looked to Christy, then me. “He’s connected, that’s for sure. He keeps his nose clean, so the cops aren’t interested in him.”
“You know this because…?” I prodded.
“Because I work for the District Attorney’s office.”