Chapter 3 - The Shadow Behind The Serving Doors
Before Carlo could lunge across the table to silence her, the heavy service doors burst open with a crash that rattled the overhead pot racks. It wasn't Vincent. It was two of Matteo De Luca’s personal enforcers—massive men in dark suits with broad shoulders and cold, dead eyes that scanned the kitchen like radar units. The rest of the kitchen staff—line cooks, dishwashers, and prep hands—froze instantly, dropping their tongs and spatulas as if the stainless steel had turned to fire. The taller enforcer, a scarred veteran named Marcus whose nose had been broken twice in street fights, stepped directly into the center of the kitchen. His gaze passed over Vincent, who was scurrying back through the doors behind them, and locked onto Carlo Bellini. "Which one of you is Carlo Bellini?" Marcus asked, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. Carlo’s knees buckled slightly. He grabbed the edge of the stove for support, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I... I am," Carlo managed to squeak out. Marcus didn't smile. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply pulled a small, clear plastic evidence bag from his jacket pocket containing a napkin smeared with the ruined sauce from the prep station floor—sauce that Amara had deliberately allowed to spill during her intentional collision earlier that evening. "Mr. De Luca’s private chemist tested the sample scraped from the kitchen floor near your station," Marcus said smoothly, taking a slow step toward the cowering sous-chef. "Turns out your Barolo reduction had a very distinct additive. Cyanide. Enough to kill an elephant, let alone a man who checks his food with the paranoia of a king." Carlo let out a high-pitched, pathetic whimper, his eyes darting toward the back exit. But the second enforcer had already blocked the rear door, his hand resting casually inside his jacket. "Please," Carlo sobbed, dropping to his knees on the greasy tile. "I didn't mean to! I was forced! It was a debt—it wasn't my idea!" Marcus looked down at him with utter disgust. "Save your fairy tales for the bottom of Lake Michigan." As Marcus reached out to grab Carlo by the collar and haul him toward the dining room, Carlo frantically pointed a trembling finger across the room, his face twisted in desperate malice. "It wasn't just me!" Carlo screamed, tears streaming down his face. "She knew! Amara knew about the vial! She’s the one who knocked over the pot! She’s an accomplice!" Every head in the kitchen turned in unison. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning his cold, piercing gaze away from Carlo and fixing it directly on Amara Greene.
