Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Who Refused to Look Away
“You believe your chef should be hidden?”
Dante Moretti's voice was quiet.
That was what frightened Victor Renaldi most.
Men like Dante didn't need to shout. They owned the kind of silence that made other men reconsider their next breath.
“Mr. Moretti, you've misunderstood,” Victor said, forcing a laugh. “Claire and I have a particular sense of humor. She's practically family.”
Claire stared at him.
Family.
That was what Victor called her whenever someone important was listening.
When the kitchen doors closed, he called her something else.
“Is that true?” Dante asked.
Victor looked toward Claire, his smile sharpening into a warning.
Claire felt the familiar pressure in her chest.
Six years.
Six years of fourteen-hour shifts, unpaid overtime, stolen recipes, and being told she should be grateful anyone employed a woman who looked like her.
She had learned to survive by remaining quiet.
But Dante wasn't looking at Victor.
He was looking at her.
“Miss Bennett?”
She swallowed.
“No.”
Victor's smile disappeared.
“No?” Dante repeated.
Claire raised her chin.
“No, sir. We don't have that kind of relationship.”
The kitchen became so silent that Claire could hear the refrigerator humming behind her.
Victor stepped forward.
“Claire, perhaps you should finish the dinner service.”
“Perhaps,” Dante said, “you should stop speaking for her.”
Victor stopped.
Dante placed the plate of rosemary focaccia on the stainless-steel counter.
“Six years,” he said, studying Claire's flour-covered hands. “That's how long you've worked here?”
Claire nodded.
“And you've been responsible for the bread program?”
“Yes.”
“The pasta?”
“Most of it.”
“The seasonal menus?”
Claire hesitated.
Victor's expression hardened.
“All of them,” she admitted.
Dante slowly turned toward the restaurant owner.
“Interesting.”
Victor adjusted his expensive watch.
“Claire is an excellent employee. I've always acknowledged that.”
“You just told her she's good enough for the kitchen because nobody has to see her.”
Victor opened his mouth.
Dante raised one hand.
“Don't insult me by pretending I didn't hear you.”
Behind him, his two security men remained motionless.
Claire recognized them from the dining room. One was broad-shouldered with a scar through his eyebrow. The other had a neatly trimmed beard and the watchful expression of a man who noticed every exit.
Neither looked surprised by Dante's authority.
But both looked disgusted by Victor.
Dante turned back to Claire.
“Do you enjoy cooking here?”
The question caught her off guard.
Nobody had ever asked.
She looked around the kitchen.
At the copper pans she polished herself.
At the ovens she had repaired with money deducted from her paycheck.
At the marble counter where she had spent countless nights kneading dough while the city slept.
“I love cooking,” she answered.
“That wasn't my question.”
Claire felt her eyes burn.
“No,” she whispered. “I don't enjoy working here anymore.”
Victor slammed his palm against the counter.
“That's enough!”
Dante moved.
Not quickly.
Not dramatically.
He simply stepped between Victor and Claire.
And somehow, that single movement changed the entire room.
“You don't raise your voice at her again.”
Victor's face turned red.
“This is my restaurant.”
“Yes,” Dante said. “It is.”
For a moment, Victor looked relieved.
Then Dante continued.
“Which means you're responsible for everything that happens inside it.”
Dante removed a business card from his jacket and placed it beside Claire's bread.
“My company is hosting a private charity dinner next Friday. Two hundred guests. I need a chef.”
Victor immediately brightened.
“Lucerna would be honored to cater—”
“I wasn't speaking to you.”
Dante pushed the card toward Claire.
“I'm offering the position to Miss Bennett.”
Claire stared at the card.
MORETTI HOLDINGS.
An address in Midtown Manhattan.
A private telephone number.
“I've never catered an event that large,” she admitted.
“Have you designed a menu for two hundred?”
“Yes.”
“Managed a kitchen team?”
“Yes.”
“Handled difficult guests?”
Claire almost laughed.
“Every day.”
“Then you're qualified.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Mr. Moretti, I'm afraid that won't be possible. Claire is under an exclusive employment agreement.”
Claire's stomach dropped.
The contract.
The one Victor had made her sign when she was twenty-six and desperate to pay her mother's hospital bills.
The one she had never been allowed to examine afterward.
Dante noticed her expression.
“What agreement?”
Victor smiled again.
“A perfectly legal arrangement.”
“Then you won't mind my attorneys reviewing it.”
Victor's smile vanished.
Dante turned to Claire.
“The choice is yours. Nobody will force you to accept.”
Claire looked at the card.
Then at Victor.
For six years, she had been told that nobody else would want her.
Now one of the most powerful men in New York was offering her an opportunity without asking her to become someone else.
“I'd like to think about it,” she said.
Dante nodded.
“Of course.”
He walked toward the doorway.
Then stopped.
“One more thing, Victor.”
“Yes?”
“I'm canceling my company's standing reservations at Lucerna until your treatment of your employees has been independently reviewed.”
Victor went pale.
Dante looked back at Claire.
“And Miss Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“The bread really was exceptional.”
For the first time that evening, she smiled.
A small smile.
But it belonged entirely to her.
Dante returned it before disappearing into the dining room.
Victor waited until the footsteps faded.
Then he slowly turned.
“You stupid, ungrateful woman.”
Claire stepped backward.
Victor reached into his jacket and withdrew a folded document.
“You think a rich man can save you?”
He opened it and tapped a signature at the bottom.
Hers.
“Your mother borrowed eighty thousand dollars from me before she died,” he said. “And according to this agreement, you inherited the obligation.”
Claire felt the room tilt.
“My mother never borrowed money from you.”
Victor smiled.
“Then perhaps you'd like to explain why her signature is right here.”
Claire looked down.
Her mother's name was written across the page.
Margaret Bennett.
But the handwriting was wrong.
And beside it was a date.
Three weeks after her mother had died.
Claire looked up.
Victor was still smiling.
May you like
And suddenly she understood.
The man who had stolen her career might have stolen something far worse.
Related Stories
