THE ESCORT

FOURTEEN | FISH FOOD

The spread of food before them was fit enough to be served to a king and queen of a kingdom.

Angelo had led their party to the deck where an oval shaped table, covered with a chocolate-colored tablecloth which had an insignia of an anchor on the four corners of it.

Glasses of champagne, and high ball glasses were also set on the table, along with a bucket holding an unopened bottle of champagne with a label she couldn't read.

Platters of food ranging from Chicken pâté on crostini, Balsamic tomato & Mozzarella skewers to something one of their hostesses called camarao ao alho e oleo, and coxinha.

There were other dishes whose names she couldn't recall, but that didn't make them any less appetizing.

There were five chairs set around the with the same anchor insignia on it, and Angelo held out the one closest to him for her, and waited until she was seated before pulling out his own chair.

It was only after they were seated that the other three followed suit.

By then, the yatch was slowly approaching open waters, seeing as the captain started the engine immediately Angelo invited the pair of them to lunch.

Elodie breathed in deeply the salty smell of the ocean, reveling in the gentle breeze caressing her face.

"Gentlemen, please help yourself," Angelo invited, spreading both hands out and wide, gesturing at the feast before them.

Without a word, the men set out to do as he'd instructed, each grabbing a plate from the stack beside them and helping themselves.

Elodie sat with her hands folded in her laps, his warning still fresh on her mind.

One of the women she'd seen on her first visit to the yatch appeared from the rear of the ship bearing another bottle of chilled wine. This one was opened.

She poured a generous amount of the liquid into their glasses after cleaning them with a white towel, then left with the remaining contents of the bottle.

From her peripheral view, Elodie watched as Angelo also helped himself to some of the food, swallowing as she watch him spear a shrimp with his fork and brought it to his mouth.

This went on for a few minute, and she grew more tense, digging her fingers into the meat of her thighs.

"How's the waste Management in San Francisco going?" Angelo suddenly asks out of the blue, startling Elodie into sitting up right in her chair, ears perked.

Fabian, who was mid-chew, quickly swallowed down his food, face turning red with the effort and replied,"Good, Don."

"And the weasel?"

"He got your message loud and clear, Don," Fabian said, looking less red now, and more like his granite-self. "Just last week, the Moglie esecutiva found the head of her German Shepard on her lawn with the note 'Welcome to the market,' in its stiff jaw."

Elodie swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the image that conjured.

Whoever the unlucky person who recieved that gift was, she didn't evny them at all.

Angelo reached for his glass of water instead of wine and took a sip from it, nodding as though he was confirming something.

"From now till the end of this meeting, use English only," he instructed, pausing to look each man in the eye until they got the message loud and clear.

"Emilio, how's business in the casino?"

"It's going well, Don." Emilio, prehaps sensing that he was next, wisely kept his hands away from his plate. "We had two incidents last week at the one in Sunset Strip, but it was swiftly taken care of. I also heard that there's a new chief of police who's been breathing down the neck of the manager in Winnemucca. But I've paid him a visit and he's fallen in line. Promises that nothing of the sort would happen again.