Chapter 38 - Mancuso

Chapter 38: Chapter 38 - Mancuso

The restaurant was called Mancuso, tucked away on a cobblestone side street in Tribeca.

From the outside, it barely looked like anything. No sign. No menu in the window. Just a heavy wooden door framed by two potted olive trees and a single brass lantern glowing above the entrance. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d walk right past it.

Which, Jesse had learned when he called that afternoon, was exactly the point.

He’d made the reservation in the Porsche outside Dean Monroe’s building, with the three guys on the stoop still watching him. The woman on the phone had told him, very politely, that Mancuso was fully booked for the next six weeks. Then Jesse had mentioned he’d be happy to pay a cancellation fee on someone else’s behalf, any amount. There’d been a pause, the sound of keys clicking, and suddenly a private table had opened up at seven-thirty.

He pulled up to the curb at seven twenty-eight.

A valet in a crisp white jacket stepped forward before the engine had even stopped. He opened Carrie’s door first, offering his hand. She took it and stepped out onto the cobblestones, the gold silk catching the lantern light.

Jesse handed the valet his key. The young man’s eyes flicked to the Porsche’s back seat, crammed to the windows with designer shopping bags, and widened slightly. He wisely said nothing.

Inside, the restaurant was dark and warm and intimate. Candlelight flickered off exposed brick walls and dark wood beams. Deep red velvet booths curved along the edges of the main dining room. A string trio played something soft and slow in the far corner. The air smelled like garlic and butter and woodsmoke.

An usher in a black suit approached them with a slight bow. "Good evening. Welcome to Mancuso. Do you have a reservation?"

"Byrne," Jesse said. "Seven-thirty. Private table."

The usher checked a leather-bound book, then smiled. "Of course, Mr. Byrne. Right this way."

He led them through the main dining room.

That was when Carrie noticed the eyes.

Conversations faltered as they walked past. Forks paused halfway to mouths. A silver-haired man in a tuxedo stopped mid-sentence and stared. A woman in diamonds nudged the man beside her and whispered something behind her hand. At a long table near the window, a group of young professionals turned in their seats to watch.

They weren’t looking at Jesse.

They were looking at her.

Carrie was suddenly, painfully aware of every inch of herself. The way the gold silk clung to her hips. The way the thin straps left her shoulders bare. The way her red curls tumbled loose down her back. She’d never worn anything like this dress in her life. Strangers had never looked at her like this.

Her steps faltered. She reached up, nervously, to cross her arms over her chest.

A warm hand settled on the small of her back. It slid around her waist.

Jesse.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her. He just kept walking, calm and steady, guiding her through the room like he’d done it a thousand times. Like she belonged there, on his arm.

Something in Carrie’s chest loosened.

She uncrossed her arms and lifted her chin.

The usher led them up a short flight of stairs to a private alcove set apart from the rest of the restaurant. It was a small, round room with a domed ceiling painted with faded frescoes of clouds and cherubs. A single table sat in the middle, draped in white linen and set for two. Candles flickered in silver holders. A bottle of red wine had already been opened and left to breathe. A tall arched window looked out over the quiet street below.

It was completely private. Just the two of them.

The usher pulled out Carrie’s chair, then Jesse’s. He laid two leather-bound menus on the table.

"Your waiter, Luca, will be with you shortly," he said. "He’ll be attending to your table exclusively this evening. Please enjoy."

He bowed and left, drawing a heavy velvet curtain closed behind him.

And then they were alone.

Carrie looked around the little room, at the frescoes, the candles, the window. She’d never been anywhere like this in her life. She hadn’t even known places like this existed outside of movies.

She looked across the table at Jesse.

How rich was he? Really? The car. The tip. Seven hundred thousand dollars in clothes, paid without blinking. And now this.

And why? Why was he doing all of this for her? The woman who’d robbed him and watched him get beaten half to death?

Was he trying to impress her?

Or was this some kind of last meal? Wine her and dine her and dress her up like a doll, and then hand her over to the police at the end of the night, so she could think about everything she’d lost from a cell?

Her stomach twisted.

Jesse picked up the wine bottle and poured two glasses. He slid one across the table to her. Then he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.

"We’re alone now," he said. "And there’s no time like the present."

His eyes locked on hers.

"So tell me. Why did you do what you did last night? And who the hell is that brute?"

Carrie opened her mouth.

The velvet curtain swept aside.

"Buonasera!"

A young waiter stepped in, tall and dark-haired with a warm smile and a white towel folded neatly over one arm.

"I’m Luca. I’ll be taking care of you this evening." He clasped his hands. "Have you had a chance to look at the menu? Do you know what you’d like?"

Carrie hadn’t even opened hers.

Jesse didn’t open his either. He glanced at the first page for maybe two seconds, then closed it. Every dish, every price and every description was already locked in his memory.

"We’ll start with the burrata with heirloom tomatoes and the beef carpaccio," he said. "Then the black truffle tagliatelle for both of us. For the main, the osso buco for me, and for the lady, the lobster risotto. And bring us whatever dessert the chef is proudest of."

Luca nodded, impressed. "Excellent choices, sir. The truffles came in from Alba this morning."

"Good."

Jesse looked at Carrie. "You’re going to love it."

Carrie nodded quickly.

She didn’t protest. She didn’t care what she ate. She wasn’t thinking about the food at all. She was thinking about how to get through the next hour without saying the wrong thing. Without making him angry. Without ending the night in handcuffs.

Luca collected the menus, poured a little more wine into each glass and disappeared back through the curtain.

The moment it swung shut, Jesse’s eyes were back on her.

"Well?"