Chapter 2
I made him ossobuco.
It was the best thing on our menu—the thing Chef Marco actually took pride in. Braised veal shanks in white wine and gremolata, served over saffron risotto that took forty minutes of constant stirring.
I delivered it myself, setting the plate in front of Dante with hands that had finally stopped trembling.
He looked at it, then at me.
“Brave choice.”
“It’s our specialty.”
“I meant speaking to me the way you did.” His fork cut through the tender meat. “Most people don’t get a second chance.”
“Then I’m lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it.”
He took a bite, chewed slowly, and something flickered in his expression. Approval, maybe. Or surprise.
“This is excellent.”
“I’ll tell the chef.”
“Tell him yourself. I’m buying the restaurant.”
The words hit me like cold water. “What?”
“This location. The building. All of it.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “The owner owes me money. Considerable money. By next week, Trattoria Lucia will be under new management.”
My stomach twisted. “You’re shutting us down.”
“I’m restructuring. The staff who matter will stay.” His eyes found mine again, dark and unreadable. “You speak Italian. You have fire. That’s rare.”
“I’m just a waitress.”
“No.” He set down his fork with deliberate precision. “You’re something more interesting than that.”
The way he said it made heat crawl up my neck.
The scarred man—I’d heard Dante call him Luca—leaned over and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Dante’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded once.
“We’re leaving,” he announced, standing in one fluid motion.
I stepped back automatically as all three men rose. Dante pulled out a money clip thick with hundreds and dropped five bills on the table without counting.
“Keep the change.”
It was easily three times what the meal cost.
He started to walk past me, then paused. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—cedar and smoke and something darker. More dangerous.
“You’ll hear from me, Arya.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.
Then he was gone. The restaurant exhaled in his wake like a held breath finally released.
Three days later, Marco called a staff meeting.
We gathered in the empty dining room—twelve of us total, nervous and whispering. Marco looked like he’d aged ten years.
“Trattoria Lucia has been sold.” He announced flatly. “New ownership takes over next week. Most of you will keep your positions. Some of you”—he consulted a piece of paper with shaking hands—”will be offered different opportunities.”
“What kind of opportunities?” Sophia asked.
Marco’s eyes found me across the room. “Arya, you’re being transferred.”
My blood went cold. “Transferred where?”
“Private service. High-profile clients.” He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “It’s a significant pay increase. You start Monday.”
“I didn’t agree to—”
“You don’t have a choice.” His voice cracked slightly. “None of us do.”
I tried to refuse. I went to the new management office—a sleek building downtown with black marble floors and security that looked like they could break me in half. I demanded to speak to someone in charge.
They sent me to the fifteenth floor.
The woman behind the desk was elegant, cold, and utterly unsympathetic.
“Miss Ki, your new position comes with a substantial salary increase, full benefits, and housing assistance if needed. Most people would be grateful.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Mr. Vitale specifically requested you.”
There it was. The truth I’d been dreading.
“This is insane,” I whispered. “He can’t just—”
“He can.” Her smile was sharp as glass. “And he did. You start Monday at his private residence. Six p.m. The address and details are in this envelope.”
She slid a black folder across the desk.
“Don’t be late, Miss Ki. Mr. Vitale values punctuality.”
I didn’t sleep that weekend.
I researched everything I could find about Dante Vitale, which wasn’t much. A few society page photos from charity events. Vague mentions in business articles about import-export. Nothing concrete. Nothing that explained why a man like him would upend my entire life over a single conversation.
Monday arrived too quickly.
The address led me to a gated estate in the hills overlooking the city. I showed my ID to security, and the iron gates swung open like a mouth. The driveway wound through manicured gardens. The house—no, mansion—was all clean lines and glass, modern and cold and breathtaking.
A woman in a black dress met me at the entrance.
“Miss Ki. I’m Elena, Mr. Vitale’s head of household. Follow me.”
She led me through rooms that looked like they belonged in architectural magazines. Marble floors. Soaring ceilings. Art I recognized from museum catalogs.
We stopped in a formal dining room where a single place setting waited at the head of a table that could seat twenty.
“Mr. Vitale will join you shortly,” Elena said. “Please wait here.”
Then she left, her heels clicking away into silence.
I stood there, heart pounding, surrounded by wealth I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
When Dante finally entered, he had traded his suit jacket for shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Somehow it made him more dangerous—less polished, more real.
“Arya.” He said my name like a secret. “You came.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.” He moved to the table, poured two glasses of wine from a bottle that probably cost more than my car. “You could have run. Disappeared. People do it all the time.”
“And you would have found me.”
“I would have.” He handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine deliberately. “But I prefer when people come willingly.”
“Why am I here?”
“Because I want you here.” His eyes held mine, dark and consuming. “Because when you looked at me in that restaurant, you saw a man. Not a monster. Not a king. Just a man.”
“I saw someone being cruel to a waitress.”
“Exactly.”
His smile was slow, devastating.
“No one has challenged me in years, Arya. No one has dared.” He took a sip of wine, watching me over the rim. “I find I’ve missed it.”
“So this is entertainment.”
“This,” he said softly, “is the beginning of something neither of us can walk away from.”
May you like
The words hung in the air between us. Heavy with promise and threat.
And God help me, I believed him.
