Chapter 208: "The Full Ice Cream Experience"

Dinner arrived course by course, each dish arranged beautifully across the table.

Steam carried the savory scent of herbs and butter between them, and by Aren’s standards, everything tasted magnificent.

Yet for most of the meal, she and Isidore barely exchanged a word — or even a glance. Aside from the occasional look she stole at him over the rim of her water glass, she kept her attention on her own plate, and made no attempt to force conversation.

Isidore ate quietly, as usual.

When they were nearly finished with the main course, he finally broke the silence.

"You’re quiet tonight."

Aren looked up in surprise.

"Well, it’s just..." Her gaze shifted uncertainly toward her plate. "I noticed last time that you don’t seem to like talking very much while you eat. So I thought I should let you enjoy the food."

Something almost resembling surprise flickered through Isidore’s eyes.

He hadn’t expected that.

During their previous meal, she’d talked about her ice cream so eagerly that he hadn’t realized she’d noticed something so minor about him.

"I’m in the mood to talk tonight," he said simply. "Let’s talk."

Aren blinked, but her surprise quickly gave way to delight. She tilted her head, searching for something worthwhile to discuss.

"Well... then..."

After a moment’s consideration, she settled on the most productive subject she could think of.

"Has your team managed to decrypt the files we pulled from Ombra?"

Isidore’s knife halted against his plate.

Of all the topics he’d expected her to choose over dinner, their covert operation against House Ombra hadn’t ranked particularly high on the list.

"Is this place private enough?"

"I assure you it is," Aren answered confidently. "I checked the restaurant myself before dinner service. This VIP lounge is especially secure."

Isidore said nothing at first.

His gaze traveled around the secluded lounge once more, independently verifying her assessment.

After a moment’s consideration, he decided the information was safe enough to share, and resumed working on his plate.

"The decryption revealed an entity identified only as ’B.’ No name, no traceable address, no information that tells us who — or what — the designation refers to."

He sliced through another piece of chicken.

"But ’B’ has been supplying Ombra with a significant amount of compromising material. Not only on other Houses. On Accardi as well."

His gaze lifted briefly to hers.

"My brother Isaac is the direct subject of several particularly sensitive files. Videos, specifically."

Aren’s expression grew serious.

"...’B’?"

Her brows slowly drew together as she considered the possibilities.

"Do you have any suspicions about who ’B’ might be?"

"For now, Isaac insists that ’B’ is House Bellini," Isidore replied.

He didn’t mention that he still considered the conclusion premature.

Aren became even more thoughtful.

"So... is that why you called in Bellini Media’s loans? I read in the news that Accardi Bank invoked a clause in their loan agreements, and demanded immediate repayment."

For the briefest instant, Isidore’s knife stopped against the meat.

"Yes."

He resumed cutting.

Aren didn’t notice the tiny lapse. Her mind had already moved on to the strategic implications.

"But... wouldn’t attacking Bellini so directly be dangerous?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "If they possess compromising recordings of House Accardi, couldn’t they retaliate by releasing them?"

This time, Isidore looked directly at her.

The faintest trace of approval entered his expression.

"Here’s what you don’t understand about Ombra."

Aren immediately gave him her full attention.

"Information becomes more valuable when it’s exclusive," he explained calmly. "If Ombra purchases something particularly rare — a compromising video, for example — they have an incentive to make certain they’re the only party capable of selling or exploiting it."

He set down his knife.

"They don’t simply trust the seller to delete their copies. They verify it. Their people purge the seller’s accessible digital copies and remove whatever physical originals they can identify."

Aren slowly nodded.

"So, assuming ’B’ really is Bellini," he continued steadily, "I consider it unlikely Bellini still possesses those recordings in a form they can use against Accardi."

"So..." Aren leaned forward slightly. "Ombra has the surviving copies?"

"Correct. And they don’t rely solely on the server. For security, physical copies are stored at two separate locations away from the primary server."

"Do we know where?"

"The decrypted data gave us enough information to identify both locations. But retrieving the recordings isn’t my primary concern at the moment."

He took a measured sip of his wine, then set the glass down.

"Identifying ’B’ is."

Aren understood why.

Recovering known evidence from known locations was dangerous, but straightforward.

An unidentified information broker capable of secretly obtaining compromising material on the Ten Houses, however, represented an entirely different threat.

She fell silent for a moment, turning the problem over in her mind, until something occurred to her.

"Master Accardi, actually... I’m attending an exhibition held by Lucilla Bellini two weeks from now."

Isidore’s gaze shifted to her.

"You are?"

"Yes," Aren nodded. "Perhaps I could use the opportunity to investigate Bellini, and see whether I can find any evidence connecting them to Ombra."

Isidore considered the proposal.

It was a reasonable point of entry, and he found no immediate flaw in it.

"Start with that," he said at last. "Confirm or eliminate Bellini first. Then we’ll deal with the physical copies."

Aren brightened at once.

"All right."

With that settled, her attention finally returned to the more immediate matter in front of her.

Isidore had finished eating. His cutlery rested neatly beside his plate, and she’d been waiting for his verdict.

"How’s the food?" she asked eagerly. "Is it good?"

Isidore looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Mediocre."

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

"About the same as every other Lombardi restaurant."

Aren’s face fell.

"Oh..."

She looked down at the remains of her own meal.

To her, this had been some of the best food she’d tasted across both of her lives. If Isidore considered this mediocre, then what had he thought of the crude beef stew she’d cooked for him before?

’It must have been horrible.’

"I’m sorry."

Her shoulders drooped.

"I’ll make sure your feedback reaches the kitchen. We can review the ingredients and preparation, and try to improve the quality next time."

Isidore watched her solemn expression for exactly two seconds.

Then he looked away.

"Do you have any of that beef stew in the kitchen?" ℯℯ𝑙.

Aren looked up blankly.

"...What beef stew?"

"The stew you made."

Recognition struck, and her entire face flushed.

"Ah! No, unfortunately!" She rubbed her hands together nervously. "If I’d known you were coming tonight, I would’ve prepared some."

"Bring some next time."

Aren blinked several times.

’Next time?’

’He... wants to eat my beef stew again?’

Her entire face brightened.

"Okie!"

Excitement surged through her so quickly that she practically sprang out of her seat.

"Then shall I bring out the ice cream now? I really want your opinion on that too!"

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

The Full Ice Cream Experience looked even more intimidating in person than it had on the menu.

Eight tasting portions occupied an elongated serving platter, each accompanied by its own garnish or topping.

Some came in familiar colors — cream, strawberry pink, pistachio green — but several of Aren’s experimental flavors featured dramatic purple swirls threaded through otherwise pale ice cream.

Isidore regarded the entire arrangement with measured suspicion.

Still, he’d survived her beef stew.

More importantly, he’d liked her beef stew. That precedent provided sufficient justification for him to pick up his spoon — and take a bite without further hesitation.

Across from him, Aren watched with breathless anticipation.

She knew his standards were high. That was precisely why his opinion mattered so much to her.

When Isidore lowered his spoon only to immediately scoop up a second bite, she finally gathered enough courage to ask.

"Master Accardi, how is it?"

Isidore gave a small nod.

"Good."

He took another bite before asking,

"How much do you have in stock?"

Aren began calculating.

"Well... we prepared enough for tonight’s launch."

Then reality caught up with her, and her gaze dropped toward the table.

"...But since nobody came, almost everything is still in stock."

Isidore silently watched the disappointment cross her face.

"I’ll take all of it."

He took another spoonful.

"Everything you have available tonight. Have it packed appropriately and delivered to Accardi Tower tomorrow morning."

Aren’s head snapped up so quickly that her short hair bounced around her face. For several seconds, she simply stared at him wide-eyed, wondering whether she’d heard correctly.

Seeing that expression, Isidore came dangerously close to smiling.

Somehow, he maintained a perfectly serious face.

"Why?" he asked, one brow rising by perhaps two millimeters. "Not a good enough offer? Then invoice Accardi at twice your standard retail price. Coordinate delivery and payment details with my assistant."

Aren almost launched herself across the table.

"No, Master Accardi! That’s not what I meant!"

She waved her hands frantically.

"Please don’t pay twice the price! I’m just surprised! I didn’t think you’d purchase that much ice cream!"

Isidore looked entirely uninterested in reversing his decision.

"Accardi Tower receives a large volume of clients, employees, and business visitors every day. The executive lounges already provide refreshments. Your ice cream can be added to the service. That price is standard."

Aren slowly settled back into her chair. Seen from that perspective, the decision made perfect business sense.

"I understand."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Then I’ll have everything packed properly tonight. If you need a regular supply afterward, I can increase production."

The faintest curl touched one corner of Isidore’s mouth.

"We’ll see."

He took another calm spoonful of ice cream.

The response sounded noncommittal enough. But as his gaze traveled over the remaining seven flavors — and then, briefly, toward the happiness returning to Aren’s face — he suspected that a regular supply was far more likely than he cared to admit.