Now for the first couple of days there were the meetings in the back room, groups of people defrauded in the Luxury Car Scam, the Owner, the door would be closed and none of the waiters would dare to enter.
There is a cloud above the restaurant.
They're not the most sympathetic group of victims by a long shot, people who thought they could by next-to-new Ferrari's and Lamborghini's at a fraction of their value are not exactly widows and orphans. And some of them have too generously shared their pain by reducing their tips.
It's taken it's toll at home as well - we can only speculate, but the Boss has been unshaven, there's a blanket on the sofa downstairs, his wife calls and has staff relay messages to him, he's shouted himself hoarse and the frequent shouting fits in the kitchen are sounding more and more exhausted, he's worn himself out.
They've caught Franco or Santo or John or however he styles himself, the police seem confident they can recover most of the money, me, I'm not so confident, seldom do victims of fraud ever see their money again. But what else can they say?
And there are more of the private meetings, the Italians sitting round the table and discussing in quiet voices the probabilities of whether they'll ever see their money again.
Unlikely.