Chapter 2 - The Sound of Broken Silver
The question hung in the air above table four, sharp and demanding, backed by the suffocating weight of twenty years of unpunished violence. Around the restaurant, the very silverware seemed to quiet. Waiters stopped mid-stride. Diners stared intently at their plates, pretending they were entirely absorbed in their appetizers.
Dominic Vance watched her, his slate-gray eyes narrowing just a fraction. He was accustomed to compliance. He was accustomed to a city that held its breath when he walked through a door, where even seasoned politicians stammered when trying to address him. A twenty-four-year-old waitress with cheap mascara and a stiff apron wasn't supposed to hold his gaze. She was supposed to shrink, nod, and scurry back to the kitchen like the rest of the frightened staff.
Instead, Daisy Jenkins didn't blink.
She stood there, her posture straight, holding the leather menus against her ribs with fingers that didn't tremble. She looked at him not with deference, but with the weary, unyielding patience of a woman who had spent too many nights dealing with men who thought their egos gave them the right to treat others like furniture.
"You didn't ask," Daisy said, her voice smooth, steady, and entirely devoid of fear. "Which is precisely why I offered. Sometimes people miss out on the best things on the menu simply because they assume they already know what they want."
A sharp intake of breath hissed from behind Dominic's shoulder. The bodyguard with the scarred eyebrow took a half-step forward, his massive frame shifting like an apex predator preparing to strike. His hand twitched toward his jacket.
Dominic raised a single finger, halting his man instantly without ever breaking eye contact with Daisy.
A heavy, electric silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, the corners of Dominic's mouth twitched upward. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the dangerous, calculating grin of a gambler who had just found an unexpected ace dealt into a rigged game.
"Is that right?" Dominic murmured, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated across the white linen tablecloth. "And what makes you think I'm interested in surprises, Daisy?"
"Because men who order the exact same thing every night are usually bored, Mr. Vance," Daisy replied, leaning down just enough to place the menus neatly beside his water glass. "And bored men are dangerous to everyone around them. I'll get your water."
She turned on her heel before he could answer, walking away with a measured, unhurried pace that made every pair of eyes in Leon's widen in sheer disbelief.
Back at the service station, Carlo was shaking so hard he dropped a stack of bread plates. They shattered against the tile with a deafening crash, drawing a sharp glare from Mr. Henderson, who looked like he was about to suffer a full cardiac arrest.
"Are you insane?" Carlo whispered, grabbing Daisy by the shoulders as soon as she reached the kitchen threshold. "Did you have a death wish? That was Dominic Vance! He could have had you thrown out into the Chicago River before the appetizers were cleared!"
"He's just a man, Carlo," Daisy said, shaking him off gently as she reached for the sparkling water pitcher and a bottle of high-end fifteen-year scotch. "He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like the regular customers who tip two dollars and complain about the temperature of the soup."
"Regular customers don't run half the docks on the south side!" Carlo hissed, burying his face in his hands. "You didn't bow. You talked back to him. You're going to get us all killed."
May you like
Daisy didn't answer. She filled the glass pitcher with ice-free sparkling water, poured the scotch into a heavy crystal tumbler, and turned back toward the dining room. But as she pushed through the swinging doors, she felt a strange, thrilling hum beneath her skin. For months, she had felt invisible—just another struggling face in a city that chewed people up and spat them out. But for the first time in a very long time, she felt entirely, fiercely alive.
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