Chapter 2 - THE OWNER OF THE FLOOR
The kitchen smelled of garlic, bleached tile, and hot copper.
Nobody moved.
The line cooks stood frozen beside the roaring stoves.
Sauces sizzled, forgotten against steel pans.
David Kesler’s jaw hung slightly slack.
His fingers remained suspended over the empty counter.
The check he had tossed lay two inches from the toe of my wet shoe.
Three hundred and forty-two dollars.
My entire life for the next two weeks.
Roman stepped past his three guards.
He walked with an easy, terrifying grace.
Underneath the fresh charcoal fabric of his suit, I saw the stiff brace of a medical wrap.
A deep wound like that should have kept him in an ICU bed for three days.
Instead, he was standing on two feet.
His pale gray eyes locked directly onto David.
"I asked a question," Roman said.
His voice was quiet.
It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.
"Mr. Vance," David stammered.
His face flushed from pale white to mottled red.
"We... we didn't expect you until the private tasting at eight."
"Answer the question, David."
"She was forty-five minutes late, sir!"
David pointed an index finger toward me.
His hand shook.
"She walked in soaked in blood."
"She ruined her uniform."
"We have the mayor's delegation in the dining room."
"I have standards to maintain."
Roman looked down at the white envelope on the floor.
He took two slow steps forward.
The leather of his Italian oxfords clicked against the tile.
He stopped directly over the envelope.
Then he crushed it beneath his heel.
"She was late because she was keeping me from bleeding to death," Roman said.
David froze.
His eyes darted from Roman’s face down to my blood-crusted blouse.
"Sir?"
"Someone put a four-inch blade into my abdomen forty minutes ago," Roman murmured.
He unbuttoned the top button of his jacket.
Beneath the crisp white shirt, the heavy gauze was already blooming with fresh pink.
"Your waitress tore her own apron to pack the wound."
"She stayed in the rain until my extraction team arrived."
"And you threw her paycheck in the dirt."
David’s knees visibly buckled.
"I didn't know, Mr. Vance! If she had only explained—"
"She tried to explain," I whispered.
My voice sounded small, but it cut through the room.
David glared at me, desperation making him reckless.
"She’s an at-will employee, Mr. Vance!"
"She knows the rules!"
Roman didn't raise his voice.
He turned his head slightly toward the tallest guard standing by the door.
"Viktor."
"Yes, Boss."
"Buy the remaining lease on this restaurant from the consortium."
Viktor tapped his phone screen twice.
"Done, sir."
Roman looked back at David.
"You're fired."
David stared at him in disbelief.
"You can't fire me! I built this kitchen!"
"You didn't build the foundation beneath your feet," Roman said.
He stepped into David's personal space.
The height difference was brutal.
"You have five minutes to take your personal belongings and leave."
"If I find your face within three blocks of this street after six o'clock,"
"my associates will introduce your ribs to the same blade I met tonight."
David didn't say another word.
He turned and bolted toward the back office.
Roman watched him go.
Then his eyes drifted back to me.
The coldness in his expression softened, just by a fraction.
He reached down, picked up the crushed envelope, and slid it into his pocket.
Then he reached into his wallet.
He pulled out a black credit card and handed it to Viktor.
"Walgreens on Michigan Avenue," Roman commanded.
"Pediatric amoxicillin."
"The liquid suspension."
My heart stopped.
"How do you know what medicine Leo needs?" I breathed.
Roman held my gaze.
"You talked to me in that alley for twelve minutes, Megan."
"You told me your son was running a hundred and two fever."
"You told me you couldn't afford to lose this shift."
He took off his overcoat and draped it over my shivering shoulders.
The wool was warm, smelling of cedarwood and faint metallic iron.
"My car is waiting outside," Roman said.
"We're going to get your son."
Before I could answer, a loud crash echoed from the front dining room.
Screams tore through the restaurant's swinging doors.
Viktor drew a suppressed automatic from his armpit holster.
"Boss," Viktor whispered, pressing his ear to his earpiece.
"The rear exit is compromised."
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"The men from the bakery didn't leave."
"They followed her here."
