Chapter 4 - THE KITCHEN WAR
The following Thursday, the atmosphere in The Amber Room’s kitchen was thick enough to choke on. Word had leaked out. In the hyper-competitive, viciously gossipy ecosystem of restaurant workers, the news that Nora Callahan had not only survived an encounter with the city's most feared underworld figure, but had actually impressed him, spread like wildfire.
Wade stood by the expediting counter, his face mottled with purple rage. He had spent the entire week trying to figure out what sign language Nora had used, asking a dishwasher whose cousin worked at a community center, trying to reclaim the upper hand he had so spectacularly lost.
"Hey, sign-language," Wade snapped as Nora walked past with a tray of empty glasses. "Got a special table tonight? Should I roll out the red carpet for your mobster boyfriend?"
Nora didn’t stop. She didn't even look at him. She dropped the glassware into the bus tub with a sharp clatter and turned back toward the prep station.
"Ignore him, Nora," Dana muttered, keeping her eyes glued to her ticket machine. "Wade's just pissed because management chewed him out for messing up the reservation book yesterday. He’s looking for someone to take the fall."
"I’m not looking for anyone," Wade shouted, slamming his hand down on the stainless steel counter. The kitchen went dead silent. Every chef, dishwasher, and busser stopped what they were doing. "She thinks she’s untouchable now. Walking into the Vault like she owns the place. Let's see how smart she is when the health inspector shows up—oh wait, I heard a rumor her brother's apartment doesn't even pass city fire codes."
Nora’s blood turned to ice. She spun around, her eyes locking onto Wade with a glare so fierce he actually took a half-step back. "Leave my brother out of this, Wade."
"Or what?" Wade sneered, stepping closer, puffing out his chest. "You'll sign at me? You think because some psycho who kills people for a living didn't break your neck, you're safe here? You're trash, Nora. You’ve been scrubbing floors for four years while the rest of us actually live."
Before Nora could lunge across the counter, the heavy kitchen doors swung open with a resounding crash.
The entire kitchen froze.
It wasn't a manager. It wasn't the owner.
It was Adrian Castellano.
He wasn't wearing his usual tailored suit. He wore a dark, heavy wool coat, his hair slightly wind-swept, and his expression was a terrifying, flat void. Flanking him on either side were two massive men in dark suits who radiated lethal intent. The entire staff shrank back against the prep tables, terrified to breathe.
Adrian didn’t look at Wade. He didn't look at the chef. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto Nora across the stainless-steel expanse of the kitchen.
May you like
Slowly, deliberately, Adrian raised his hands.
You’re late, his fingers signed, the movement crisp and commanding. My table has been waiting for twenty minutes.
