Chapter 27 #3
It’s a talent how Dad can briefly address matters as serious as our family rift then pivot straight into drinking and smoking like it’s a celebration instead.
But as the ginger server hurries back over and he orders a bottle for the table, I look over at my baby brother in secret.
Ronan nods as if reiterating what we’ve agreed.
We won’t kill each other; we won’t go after one another.
But there’s no magic antidote to our bad feelings. We’ll still need our space and time and after that… who the fuck knows?
One thing is clear above all else, the war is over, and we’re both grateful that it is.
“This is your pick?” Chantal asks incredulously. She’s folded her arms and arched a brow. “Of all the places to eat in the city, you’re choosing Wok This Way?”
The illusion of a grin passes across my face. I pinch at her elbow and beckon for her to follow. “You’d be surprised which spots are worthwhile. Most of the best restaurants are the small mom-and-pop places, not your five-star reservation-six-months-in-advance Chez Fancy-Ass Bistro.”
“Okay, point made about the mom and pops. But just so you know, Chez Fancy-Ass Bistro has a bomb lobster bisque.” She smirks as I shake my head and guide her through the door.
It’s true that from the outside Wok This Way looks sketchy even during daylight hours.
But on the inside? It’s like stepping into the living room of your Chinese grandma whose cooked you some of the most delicious homemade Chinese food you’ll ever have.
We step into a restaurant with plastic-wrapped furniture, faded red lanterns, and a calendar pinned to the wall that’s somehow still on the wrong year.
Over the past two weeks we’ve been taking turns when we go out to dinner. Some evenings she chooses. The next night it’s my turn.
It’s been amusing seeing the differences in our picks. Chantal’s chosen upscale eateries where the plates have morsels of food fit for maybe a rabbit, while I’ve taken us to obscure spots most people only know about by word of mouth.
We’ve still had to keep a low profile considering… I’m supposed to be dead. But we’ve been making it work.
As we enter the dining room, Grandma Chen comes bustling out of the back kitchen. She’s a tiny woman that shrinks more every time I see her, gray hairs at her temple and laugh lines drawn on her face.
“Ah, my handsome headache returns!” she exclaims, grabbing two menus from the front post. She beckons us over to one of the tables. “And you’ve brought a pretty lady with you. You usually dine alone.”
“Hi, I’m Chantal,” my brat says with a small wave.
“Chantal. Very beautiful. Call me Grandma Chen. Everyone does. Sit, sit.”
Heat rushes up the back of my neck as Chantal glances over at me with raised brows. As I pull out her chair and tuck her in, she waits for me to sit down across from her before the teasing commences.
“So I’m the first woman you’ve brought by to see Grandma Chen. Don’t I feel honored?”
“You’re never gonna let me live this down, right?”
“What do you think?”
It figures. My brat always gives even better than she gets.
Just another reason I can’t get enough of her. The girl holds her own, and I’m good with it.
It’s refreshing after so long dealing with Cara’s obedient silence. The funnier thing is, apparently from what I’ve heard, my ex-wife’s the opposite with Sean.
She’s become a different version of herself now that she’s not saddled by me.
I’ve realized I feel the same. I’m still the same Lochlan Callahan with Chantal… but different.
For the better different.
I order for both of us, selecting a range of different items for Chantal to sample—dan dan noodles, Kung Pao chicken, scallion pancakes, crispy orange beef, and more—ignoring Chantal’s protests that there’s no way we can eat all this food.
“Ever heard of takeout boxes? Trust me when I say it tastes even better as leftovers.”
Chantal remains skeptical ’til the food arrives. Then she takes one bite and she’s staring at her plate like her mind’s been blown.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs.
“Told you,” I answer cockily. “Wait ’til you try the egg rolls. Grandma Chen is known around Brooklyn for them.”
We dig into our food as between bites Chantal tells me about her lunch with the girls… or lack thereof. Turns out Simone didn’t show up, and her cousin Monique’s attempt to be peacemaker didn’t pan out.
“It’s probably going to take her some time,” Chantal sighs.
“I think that’s for all of us. We all need some time.”
“You could say that again,” she says. She points at me with her fork between chews. “No offense, but it’s still wild when I think about how everything’s gone down. A few months ago, you kidnapped me from a resort in the Maldives. Now we’re sharing Chinese food in Brooklyn like a normal couple.”
“Not sure we’ll ever be a normal couple.”
She snorts. “Good. We’re not normal people, so it tracks.”
I grin at her as I take a drink from my Sprite. “Normal is boring. Are you even alive if you’re not caught up in a mob feud at least once a week?”
It’s an edgy joke that would fall flat for most people. But Chantal merely smirks at me and says that’s why she keeps her claws ready.
An equally edgy rebuttal that many would find horrifying given what she’s been through.
Both of us get it though; we understand that mildly inappropriate humor has become one of the ways we communicate.
“How’d it go?” she asks moments later. She’s finally sampled one of Grandma Chen’s egg rolls and has already gone through two. “Earlier, with your father. Please tell me it didn’t end in a family shootout.”
“Not this time, no,” I answer. “It went about as well as it possibly could. But it wasn’t just the two of us like I thought. Ronan was there.”
She almost chokes on her next bite of egg roll. “Wait, who? Ronan Callahan? The same Ronan who shot you in the middle of the road?”
“The one and only. Our father ambushed us both. Smart when you think about it. It was a fucked up family reunion worthy of Jerry Springer or some shit.”
“Not going to lie, I’d tune in.”
“Trust me, I know, brat. You consume every episode of the Housewives of Wherever,” I say bluntly. My shoulders give a quick half shrug. “Anyway, turns out, my father’s dying. Terminal cancer. The remission story was bullshit.”
“Oh my god, Lochlan! I’m so sorry,” she gasps, eyes widening.
“Don’t worry about it, brat. Dad’s accepted it… and so have I. Says he’s got months if not weeks left. There’s nothing anybody can do apparently.”
“Wow,” she murmurs. “Intense. No wonder we joke about shootouts and kidnappings.”
“No kidding. It’s rough to think about. As rough as it is for you with your dad. He’s the man who taught me everything—to shave, to drive, told me about girls, and showed me about the family business. He’s who I spent my whole life trying to impress. Then I’ve spent the last year hating him.”
“It’s a mindfuck,” she admits. “I’ve had the same thoughts about my dad.
He wasn’t… he wasn’t always so… bad? I mean, I know he literally tried to sell me to the Bratva, and I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Mom.
But… but there were good times too, you know?
How am I even supposed to reconcile it?”
“The best way you can. That’s all either of us can do.” I reach across the table and grab her free hand, running the pad of my thumb across her knuckles. “We’ve got each other’s backs now. That’s the one good thing that’s come outta all this.”
Her face softens as she peers at me across the table and nods. She’s so damn unbelievable even right now I question how she’s real.
My spoiled little brat who’s gorgeous and sexy on the outside. But on the inside she’s witty and thoughtful and the best person I know.
“I was thinking about the estate,” I say, pivoting subjects. “Grandpa Finn’s place. It’s still mine, technically. Been sitting empty since we had to abandon it.”
“Ah yes, the Addams Family hellscape I had the misfortune of getting acquainted with,” she retorts in sarcastic fashion. “0 out of 5 stars on the Airbnb review, by the way.”
My lips twitch, tempted to grin again. “I might fix it up. Renovate it. Turn it into a house that’s livable again instead of a crumbling relic. Might need some help, though. With the decorating. Making it look... nice.”
“As in interior design? As in giving the property a real face lift?”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind. I’ve already got Sorcha on board. Poor girl’s been looking for work ever since I had to go on the run.”
Chantal squeals and then I do grin again. “My girl Sorcha! I’ve missed her! Ugh, I’ve been thinking about our garden. I bet those damn weeds have started up again.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a hell yes, Callahan. Lucky for you, my calendar just so happens to be clear. And I just so happen to love home renovation projects. Especially ones involving crumbling Gothic estates with lots of potential. But on one condition.”
“Which would be?”
“I’m the consultant,” she says snootily, turning her nose up. “There will be no dust or grime that touches these little manicured fingers—as you once called them.”
I chuckle. “Deal. I’ll hire a team to do the grunt work. Wouldn’t want my brat getting even a speck of dirt on her ever again.”
Grandma Chen returns with egg tarts for dessert, and we do our best to consume what we can.
As we do, we go over potential changes for the estate. Some modern upgrades we can make and how we can still preserve some of the vintage Gothic curb appeal.
I let Chantal take the lead, doing most of the talking as I nod along and make mental notes. It’s nice to think about a future together.
…to think about how technically we could be building a new home together.
A place that could be ours.
My gaze flits to the restaurant window for what should be a quick glance. It is ’til I notice the man across the street, openly watching us from a distance.
He’s tall and stone-faced and icy blond.
I know him well considering I killed his twin brother.
We lock eyes from a distance as tension cuts through me followed by a shot of adrenaline. Then a city bus rumbles past, blocking the view for a couple seconds.
Once it’s driven by, the blond is gone. He’s vanished like he never stood on the sidewalk across the street watching us.
Chantal’s none the wiser. I let her talk on as I reach for my chopsticks and take another bite of the orange beef.
But the tension, the shot of adrenaline coursing through me, has gone nowhere.
The blond showing up was a clear message.
The Russians haven’t forgotten about us. They’re not letting go how we’ve fucked them over twice now.
It’s just a matter of time before they finally make a move…