Chapter 2 - The Man Washing Dishes
Vincent returned to Magnolia Bistro the following morning.
Not as a customer.
At 5:43 a.m., before sunrise had broken over Chicago, he entered through the restaurant’s rear service door wearing faded jeans, a black T-shirt, cheap work boots, and a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.
His oldest friend and security chief, Marco DeLuca, stared at him as though Vincent had announced plans to join a circus.
“You own six restaurants.”
“Seven.”
“You own seven restaurants, three warehouses, two construction companies, and enough commercial property to make half the aldermen in this city return your calls before breakfast.”
Vincent tied a kitchen apron around his waist.
“Your point?”
“My point is that you don’t wash dishes.”
“I do today.”
Marco rubbed both hands over his face.
“This woman has broken you in twenty-four hours.”
Vincent looked at him.
Marco immediately stopped smiling.
Officially, Magnolia Bistro belonged to Moretti Hospitality Group. Very few employees knew Vincent personally. He had deliberately kept himself away from legitimate businesses because he wanted them insulated from the darker side of his empire.
Now he wondered if distance had become neglect.
The restaurant’s revenue had fallen for six consecutive months despite strong customer traffic. Payroll costs were inexplicably high, yet employees complained about missing overtime. Suppliers had submitted duplicate invoices.
Tony Russo had blamed inflation.
Vincent had believed him.
Until Scarlet.
He had come undercover to learn the truth.
At six, the kitchen staff arrived.
Tony nearly walked past Vincent before stopping.
“Who are you?”
“Vince Marino. Temporary kitchen help.”
Tony glanced at a clipboard.
Vincent had arranged the paperwork through corporate.
“Dish pit,” Tony grunted. “And stay out of my way.”
“Sounds easy.”
“It is if you’re not stupid.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
For a man unknowingly insulting his employer, Tony possessed remarkable confidence.
At 6:17, Scarlet came through the swinging doors.
Vincent almost failed to recognize her.
She looked worse.
Her hair was tied into a messy knot. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her face was pale.
Then she saw him.
She stopped.
“You.”
Vincent glanced over his shoulder theatrically.
“Me?”
“Coffee philosopher.”
“I prefer coffee victim.”
Scarlet looked at his apron.
“What are you doing back here?”
“Apparently washing dishes.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You were a customer yesterday.”
“I contain multitudes.”
That earned him a tiny laugh.
Then she pressed one hand against the stainless-steel counter.
Vincent saw her knees weaken.
He moved before thinking.
His hand caught her elbow.
“Scarlet?”
“I’m fine.”
“You nearly fell.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She pulled away gently, embarrassment replacing the humor in her eyes.
Vincent noticed something else.
She was shaking.
“When did you last eat?”
Her expression hardened.
“That’s an oddly personal question for the dishwasher.”
“When?”
Scarlet stared at him.
“Yesterday.”
“What time?”
“Does coffee count?”
“No.”
“Then I refuse to answer on the grounds that you’re becoming annoying.”
Vincent opened the refrigerator.
Scarlet grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He looked at her hand.
She released him immediately.
“Tony charges employees for anything we eat.”
Vincent went still.
“Even leftovers?”
“Especially leftovers.”
“That food gets thrown away.”
“Welcome to Magnolia.”
Before Vincent could answer, Tony entered.
“Hayes! Why are you standing around?”
Scarlet immediately moved.
“Table four wants eggs over easy.”
“And table nine has been waiting six minutes.”
“They just sat down.”
“Then they’ve been waiting six minutes too long.”
Tony spotted Vincent.
“And you. Stop flirting and work.”
Vincent slowly turned toward the sink.
He had buried men for speaking to him with less disrespect.
Yet somehow, keeping his cover was becoming entertaining.
The morning rush exposed one problem after another.
Tony changed employee timecards.
He made servers pay cash for broken glasses.
He ordered kitchen staff to relabel expired ingredients.
When an elderly dishwasher named Mr. Alvarez asked about two missing overtime shifts, Tony threatened to replace him.
Vincent memorized everything.
At eleven, he found Scarlet behind the restaurant beside a dumpster.
She was crouched against the brick wall.
In her hands was half a grilled cheese sandwich wrapped in a napkin.
Vincent stopped.
Scarlet looked guilty.
Then defensive.
“Judge me and I’ll stab you with a plastic fork.”
“I was going to ask why you’re eating beside a dumpster.”
“Because Tony watches the break room.”
Vincent sat beside her.
His expensive instincts protested against the dirty pavement.
Scarlet stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Having lunch.”
“You don’t have lunch.”
Vincent pulled a wrapped turkey sandwich from his apron.
Marco had forced it on him that morning.
He tore it in half and offered her some.
“No.”
“Scarlet.”
“I don’t take charity.”
“It isn’t charity. It’s a trade.”
“For what?”
“Information.”
Her expression changed.
“What information?”
“Why do you owe Tony money?”
The humor vanished completely.
Scarlet looked away.
“Forget it.”
“He threatened you publicly.”
“That doesn’t make it your problem.”
“Maybe I’m curious.”
“Curiosity gets people hurt.”
Vincent almost laughed at the irony.
Scarlet stood.
“I need to go.”
She took one step.
Then Vincent saw a folded envelope fall from her apron.
Scarlet did not notice.
He picked it up.
The envelope had already torn along one edge.
A hospital logo showed through.
So did a name.
Milo Hayes.
And beneath it:
Pediatric Cardiology.
Vincent’s expression changed.
Scarlet turned, saw the envelope in his hand, and went white.
“Give me that.”
He handed it over immediately.
She clutched it against her chest.
“My brother,” she whispered.
Vincent said nothing.
“He’s twelve.”
The anger disappeared from her face.
What remained was exhaustion.
“He needs another heart surgery.”
Suddenly Vincent understood the double shifts.
The missing meals.
The advance.
The shoes worn nearly through.
Scarlet swallowed.
“I need this job, Vince. So whatever heroic thing is happening inside your head, don’t do it.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were.”
She stepped closer.
“Tony can scream at me. He can insult me. I can survive that.”
Her voice cracked.
“But I cannot survive losing the insurance.”
Vincent felt something cold settle inside him.
Because Magnolia’s employee insurance plan had been canceled three months earlier.
He knew because he had seen the corporate report himself.
Scarlet should not have had coverage.
“Scarlet.”
“What?”
“Who told you your brother was insured?”
She frowned.
“Tony.”
Vincent looked toward the kitchen door.
“And how much does he take from your paycheck for it?”
“Two hundred and eighty dollars every month.”
Vincent’s blood went cold.
There was no insurance.
Tony was stealing from her.
But before Vincent could speak, the back door opened.
Tony stood there.
May you like
He had heard enough.
And the look on his face told Vincent that Scarlet’s problems were about to become much worse.
