The Celtic Quest by Andrew Clawson

Author:Andrew Clawson [Clawson, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Brooklyn

A ring of empty tables in Sanna was a rare sight during dinner rush. Except when Vincent Morello had a reservation. While diners filled the restaurant and waiters buzzed around the room, Vincent and Joey Morello had an oasis of quiet. An oasis with two tables of bodyguards nearby, but still. Even a month ago this wouldn’t have been possible. A month ago, neither Morello nor Cana men came here, which meant nobody from the neighborhood did either.

Joey Morello understood. He didn’t want his men starting fights, and neither did Vincent. It seemed Altin Cana wasn’t spoiling for a fight, either.

Vincent swirled red wine in a long-stemmed glass. Joey had just finished telling him a story. “Ahmed has paid off his loan from the Cana man?”

“In full, about six weeks ago.” A tanned brunette at the bar caught Joey’s eye and smiled. He did the same, then turned away. Nothing came before business with his father. Even that gorgeous woman at the bar. “Then the Cana men stopped coming around the place. My guess is they didn’t like having to pay for their food.”

“Free meals are not good for business.”

“Ahmed said the same thing without actually saying it. Now he’s busy every night of the week. From what he told me, the hardest part is finding good help.”

“I expect he will do quite well.” Vincent touched the menu in front of him. “Are you ready?”

“Come on, Dad. You know I always get the same thing.”

They ordered, and their waiter disappeared into the kitchen as another arrived to fill their drinks. Joey nodded his appreciation. “Thanks, Luka.”

The server dipped his head and went off. Joey always made it a point to remember the name of a man bringing him drinks. Joey lifted his wine glass, moving it around to indicate the room. “What do you think of the place?”

“The food smells delicious,” Vincent said. “I am glad you chose a new restaurant for us tonight. Food is meant to be enjoyed slowly, and with family.”

Joey set his glass down, picked it back up, then smoothed the tablecloth. “What’s on your mind, Dad?”

Lines of mirth appeared around Vincent’s eyes. “Perhaps I wish to have a meal with my son, nothing more.”

“Then I’m glad you invited me,” Joey said. “But I know you better than that. Something’s on your mind.”

“You know me well. As did your mother, God rest her soul.” Vincent crossed himself. “Amore mio.”

Joey nodded and waited. No one hurried Vincent Morello, not even his son. Besides, he liked sitting with his old man and chatting. Vincent rarely had the time to do it these days.

Vincent’s back was to the wall, his eyes covering the room as he spoke. “When I was your age, a restaurant such as this would not have survived.”

“The old crew had no interest in Mediterranean meatballs?”

“Heresy,” Vincent said. “We must adapt. Those who resist will be lost in the rising tide.”

“Wait until you try the baba ghanoush,” Joey said. “It’s so good you’ll cheer for the Turkish soccer team.

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