Chapter 4 - The Scripted CrueltyWhen Tessa walked out of table seven to fetch the sea bass, she executed Salvatore’s plan flawlessly. She kept her head down, her shoulders slightly hunched, her bottom lip pressed tight as if she were holding back tears. She walked past the host stand without looking at Brett, her fingers gripping the silver tray until her knuckles turned white.
Brett practically vibrated with excitement. He immediately sidled over to Carla, nudging her with his elbow. "Look at her. I told you. Marquetti must have given her that look—the one where he looks right through you like you're garbage. She’s cracking."
"Should we swap her out?" Carla asked, though her voice lacked any real sympathy. "If she drops the plate in there, Luca will lose his mind."
"No way," Brett hissed. "Let her finish the disaster. She needs to be taken down a notch. Always acting like she's too busy for the rest of us, running off the second the clock strikes eleven. Let's see how much she likes her tip tonight. She’ll be lucky if he doesn't leave her a blank receipt."
Tessa took the covered dome containing the sea bass from the pass-through counter. The line cooks were watching her silently, some with pity, some with detached amusement. She didn't care. Inside her mind, she was counting the seconds, waiting for the climax of the little play Salvatore had written for them.
She re-entered table seven. The moment the door clicked shut, her posture straightened, and she let out a soft breath. Salvatore was waiting for her, a dark smile playing on his lips.
They are celebrating outside, she signed as she set the plate down and lifted the silver dome, releasing the aromatic steam of saffron and fresh fish. Brett looks like he just won the lottery.
Good, Salvatore signed, picking up his fork. Let a man feel rich before you take his coins. It makes the loss stay with him longer.
He took a bite of the fish, chewing slowly, then nodded in approval. The kitchen has talent, even if the management lacks a spine. Tessa, tell your brother Danny that tomorrow morning, a man named Marcus will arrive at the South Side Community Center. He runs the logistics fleet for my transport companies. He needs an apprentice who understands engine blocks through vibration. The pay is thirty dollars an hour to start, with full medical benefits.
Tessa froze. Her hands hovered over the table, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked at Salvatore, searching his face for any sign of charity or condescension, but there was none. There was only the cold, hard certainty of a man who made things happen with a flick of his wrist.
Why are you doing this? she signed, her fingers trembling slightly.
Because your brother has a sister who stands in frozen rooms for him, Salvatore signed, his dark eyes softening as he looked at her. And because I have the power to fix a broken road. Never apologize for taking space in a world that wants you invisible, Tessa.
May you like
Tessa felt a tear slip down her cheek, but this time it wasn't a performance. It was the sudden, overwhelming weight of four years of exhaustion lifting off her shoulders. Thank you, she signed simply.
Now, Salvatore’s expression hardened back into the terrifying mask the city feared. Call the manager in here. It’s time to end the play.
