Vicious Minds: Part 2 (Children of Vice 5)

More snickers.

I shook my head at her.

“Now ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know what you’ve heard about this man beside me, but he’s under new management—Italian management. So, I apologize for any of his shortcomings…”

“Shortcomings?”

She waved me off. “I hope you will all welcome him and our family to your church as ours sadly is being repaired.”

“And if we don’t?” someone called out.

“We leave, not that big of a deal. Though very unchristian. We can just hold service at our house, right?”

I looked at her.

“He looks ready to fall over.” They laughed. “Who knew the mighty Ethan Callahan could look so terrified?”

More laughter.

I was not a fan of it.

But saw the necessity of it.

I looked at the men now at our table. “I may need that flask.”

They roared with laughter.

“Church at the Callahans’ next week!” someone randomly called out.

“Wait, wait!” Calliope held up her hands. “If you aren’t allowing us to come here, why would you come to our home?”

“Ain’t you asking for the community?” Bianchi Jr. grumbled. “If a few people feel uncomfortable having y’all come here, a few will show up at your house for service...”

“Yeah, so it ain’t overrun with only Irishmen,” Mr. Morandi or Mr. Sagese said; I still hadn’t taken the time to figure which was which. None of these people were families we normally associated with, nor did any have power or importance.

When she’d bothered to learn their names, I had no idea. But this was where she excelled beyond me, it seemed.

“Okay fine, raise your hands if you’re coming to our house so we can prepare.”

“What, are we in 3rd grade?” Bianchi Jr. snapped at her.

“So, is that a no for you?” she shot back.

He grumbled but lifted his hand. Slightly she stood up, and I held her as she almost fell over, trying to count.

“Wait, put your hands down. This is too many; I can’t count like this,” she called out, and it was interesting how they all just listened to her. “Raise your hands if you don’t feel comfortable with us coming and won’t come to our home.”

No one raised their hands.

She huffed, “If everyone is okay with it, why am I hosting at the house?”

Clever.

“No…no…some people might be nervous—”

“Oh bull,” she said in Italian, causing them to laugh. “You all just want an excuse to come over.”

“You are the one who is supposed to invite us anyway!” someone called out behind me.