Chapter 5 - Across The Table From The Prince Of Taylor Street
The walk through the grand dining room of Bellavita felt like walking the green mile. The crystal chandelier seemed to cast a heavier, more oppressive light as Amara followed Marcus across the plush red carpeting, with Carlo being dragged roughly behind them by the second enforcer. When they reached the central table, Matteo De Luca was sitting quietly, swirling a glass of dark red wine, his sharp eyes fixed entirely on Amara. He didn't look at Carlo once. "So," Matteo said, his voice smooth and measured, carrying the quiet authority of a man who owned the city block by block. "You're the girl who knocked over the pot." "Yes, Mr. De Luca," Amara said, standing tall with her hands clasped in front of her simple black uniform. "My name is Amara Greene." Matteo set his wineglass down with a soft clink against the polished wood. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, studying her face as if trying to decode a complex architectural blueprint. "Marcus tells me you knew the food was poisoned before it left the kitchen. He also tells me you claim Vincent Marconi would have covered it up." "Vincent cares about two things," Amara stated without hesitation. "His Michelin star aspirations and his bank account. He doesn't read the prep logs, he doesn't check the supplier invoices, and he certainly doesn't inspect the sauce pots. If Carlo wanted to slip arsenic, cyanide, or rat poison into a reduction, Vincent wouldn't notice until the coroner started asking questions." Carlo let out a strangled sob from the floor where he was being held by the enforcers. "She's lying! She set me up! She wanted my job!" Matteo raised one hand slightly, and the enforcer holding Carlo immediately jammed a heavy knee into the sous-chef’s back, cutting off his panicked screams instantly. Matteo never broke eye contact with Amara. "You speak with a lot of confidence for a twenty-five-year-old waitress making minimum wage in a kitchen full of wolves," Matteo observed quietly. "What else do you know about this restaurant, Amara Greene? Because right now, your coworker is about to find out what happens when someone tries to kill a De Luca." "I know that Carlo didn't buy that cyanide from a local pharmacy," Amara said, her voice unwavering. "That vial came from an industrial cleaning supply company called Vane Chemical on the south side—the same company that provides chemical solvents for your own construction sites. Which means someone inside your own organization gave Carlo access to the compound, or someone paid him a very large sum of money to use your favorite restaurant as a hit list."
