Chapter 2 - The Edge of the Knife
The kitchen was a chaotic war zone of screaming line cooks and hissing pans.
When Richard pushed Tessa through the doors, the entire staff froze in disbelief.
"Give her an open flame and a cast-iron skillet right now," Richard barked, sweating profusely through his suit.
The executive chef opened his mouth to protest, but Richard silenced him with a frantic, wild-eyed glare.
Tessa walked over to the prep station, her hands trembling for the first time all night.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the grease-filled air.
She had to remember the exact way Mr. Cosenza used to describe his wife's cooking.
She grabbed a massive, marbled bone-in ribeye from the dry-aging rack.
She smashed five cloves of raw garlic with the flat side of a heavy cleaver.
The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board grounded her racing thoughts.
She poured a generous amount of unfiltered olive oil into the smoking hot pan.
When the meat hit the cast iron, a violent hiss erupted, sending a plume of fragrant smoke into the air.
Tessa did not use the fancy microgreens or the imported truffle butter.
She cooked with aggressive, simple precision, searing the crust until it was dark and caramelized.
Fifteen minutes later, she plated the steak on a plain white dish.
Richard grabbed the plate, but Tessa pulled it back with a fierce yank.
"He told me to cook it, so I am going to serve it," Tessa stated coldly.
She pushed past the manager and walked back into the silent, suffocating dining room.
Every eye in the restaurant tracked her movements as she approached the center booth.
She set the plate down in front of Salvatore without a single word.
The old man leaned over the dish, inhaling the sharp, pungent aroma of roasted garlic and charred fat.
He picked up his fork and knife, cutting a thick slice from the center of the bone.
Gabriel watched his father closely, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the table.
Salvatore chewed slowly, his black eyes staring unblinkingly into empty space.
He swallowed.
He set down his silverware with a loud, metallic clatter.
He reached inside his heavy winter coat.
Tessa braced herself, expecting him to pull out a wad of cash to insult her.
Instead, Salvatore pulled out a heavy, black handgun and placed it directly onto the table.
May you like
"Tell me, girl," Salvatore growled, resting his hand on the weapon.
"Who paid you to poison my food?"
