Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I draw a breath and place my cloth napkin across my lap, thinking again of the paper in my pocket.
I take a bite of shepherd’s pie and bring it to my mouth. Despite the fact that I’m not hungry at all, it is delicious. The whipped potatoes on top of the pie are creamy and flavorful, and the filling is savory and delicious.
I butter a piece of soda bread and bring that to my mouth next.
A little bland, but oddly hearty. I take a sip of water to get it down, and then I try the wine.
It’s good. A basic red table wine, Italian, I think. Not overly nuanced, but it pairs perfectly with the shepherd’s pie. I would’ve thought McAllister would pull out all the stops for this lunch, but he’s serving us basic red wine.
Which is of course fine with me.
Because God knows I need a fucking drink. The bourbon didn’t quite get me where I need to be to get through this painful ordeal.
Then again, I want my wits about me. Things could go south between my grandfather and McAllister at any time.
“Vinnie,” McAllister says, “how’s your golf game?”
Oh my God, seriously? We’re mobsters. We don’t play golf. Do we?
“Nonexistent,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “We’ll have to change that. The best deals are made over golf games, right, Mario?”
Does my grandfather golf? I should know that.
“I don’t think golf will be my thing, Declan,” I say. “I prefer to do business in an office. Or over a drink.”
“We all enjoy that,” McAllister says.
Belinda sits next to me, looking at her plate the whole time. She still hasn’t made eye contact with any of us that I can see.
She’s been trained well. Be a good woman and stay put and shut up.
But she’s also been trying to stand out as a piano prodigy.
The poor little girl. She deserves so much more than what she has been born into.
Thank God Savannah didn’t suffer this fate.
My own mother did. She was married off at eighteen. Grandfather’s only child, and he chose my father for her. I’m sure he had a reason for that, though he doesn’t seem to think much of my father anymore.
There’s a story there that I don’t know. A story I’ll need to ferret out. I need to find every skeleton in my grandfather’s closet if I’m going to take him down.
We finish our lunch with small talk among the three of us grown-ups while Belinda continues to be silent.
Our plates are clear, and dessert arrives. Simple vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce.
“Belinda’s favorite again,” McAllister announces. “The caramel sauce is homemade.”
“You have excellent taste, Belinda,” my grandfather says. “Who needs chocolate when you can have vanilla?”
“Belinda is allergic to chocolate,” McAllister says. “So we’ve learned to really love vanilla in this household.” He slowly moves his gaze onto me. “It was Miles’s favorite too.”
Dead silence.
Miles, who tried to rape Savannah, and he was ready to kill Falcon until my father killed him.
And here we all are, eating shepherd’s pie and ice cream, talking as if none of that ever happened. Like we’re just all the best fucking friends.
I can’t help turning to look at Belinda when her older brother is mentioned.
She’s tugging on her lower lip with her teeth. It’s the first time I’ve seen any kind of facial expression from her at all.
He was her big brother.
He may have been a rapist, a criminal, and a genuine piece of shit, but maybe he was nice to her. Who the hell knows?
Everybody has family.
Christ. Puzo had a wife and kids, too. He may have been a mobster piece of shit, but he had people who loved him and depended on him. Maybe his wife knew what he was doing to support their lavish lifestyle. But his kids certainly didn’t. And his nanny, apparently an old friend of Raven’s, couldn’t have known about his dealings.
I force the thought out of my head. He was a bad man. The world is better off with him gone.
More small talk as we finish our dessert.
Finally, the butler comes in to clear the table.
McAllister rises. “Gentlemen, would you like to join me for a cigar on the veranda?”
A young woman enters. “Miss Belinda, it’s time for your afternoon lesson.”
Belinda looks up at her father.
He nods slightly at her. “Go ahead, darling.”
Belinda rises from her chair, still not making eye contact with any of us. “It was lovely to meet all of you,” she says and then follows the young woman—her nanny?—out of the dining room.
Only then, while my grandfather rises and is otherwise engaged talking to McAllister, do I have a chance to pull out the note in my pocket.
My heart stops as I glance at it.
Please help me.
9
RAVEN
Lunch with my mother turns out to be more difficult than I anticipated.