Chapter 8 - Dinner with the Boss
Renzo hit the manual release switch, and the heavy steel-reinforced door hissed open. Vincent stepped into the suite, carrying the silver tray with effortless grace. He had removed his suit jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp, powerful lines of his throat.
“I trust the accommodations meet your standards, Clara,” Vincent said smoothly, setting the tray down onto a small dining table near the window. He looked over at the bathroom door, where Mia was currently singing a quiet nursery rhyme to her favorite stuffed rabbit. “And how is our four-year-old security consultant holding up?”
“She thinks we’re staying in a fancy hotel,” I answered, crossing my arms defensively as I watched him. “Though I’m guessing most luxury hotels don't come equipped with bulletproof glass and armed guards at the elevators.”
Vincent offered a faint, dry smile—not a warm one, but something that reached his eyes for a split second. “Luxury in my line of work is entirely dependent on structural integrity. Come, eat. You haven't had a proper meal since morning.”
I walked over to the table, pulling out a velvet chair, though I didn't sit down immediately. Underneath the silver dome was a plate of roasted chicken, garlic butter vegetables, and a warm bowl of soup for Mia.
“Why are you doing this, Mr. Castalano?” I asked quietly, looking directly into his dark eyes. “You could have paid us off, given us a plane ticket to Europe, and washed your hands of us. Why risk complications by bringing us into your inner sanctum?”
Vincent pulled out the chair opposite mine, sitting down and resting his forearms on the edge of the table. He didn't look away from my gaze. “Because my father taught me a very simple rule in this business, Clara: debt is a sacred obligation. David Sterling threatened a mother and her child under my roof today. In my world, that requires a permanent corrective response.”
“And keeping us locked on the third floor is your corrective response?”
“Keeping you here is a tactical necessity,” Vincent corrected calmly. “Correcting David Sterling is currently being organized downstairs.”
Mia bounced out of the bathroom just then, her eyes lighting up at the sight of food. “Mr. Castalano! Are you having dinner with us?”
Vincent’s stern expression softened noticeably as he looked at her. “I am checking to ensure the kitchen met your strict culinary standards, young lady.”
Mia giggled, climbing eagerly into the chair beside me. “It smells really good. Can I have some chicken?”
May you like
As I helped my daughter plate her dinner while the most feared man in the international shipping underworld sat quietly watching us with an unreadable expression, the heavy encrypted comms console on the wall suddenly let out a sharp, urgent double-beep.
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