Chapter 3 - The Architecture of the New Lease
The promotion did not bring Mara luxury; it brought her a desk in the basement office between the wine cage and the boiler room, and a mountain of inventory sheets that had been neglected by the previous manager for three seasons.
By Thursday of the following week, the restaurant was closed for a private corporate event, but the private dining rooms remained dark. Mara sat beneath a single bare bulb, her fingers typing columns of numbers into an old computer, her ears tuned to the heavy, regular footsteps coming down the wooden stairs.
She didn't look up when the shadow fell over her desk.
“The inventory for the Tuscan reds is short three cases, Mr. Bellandi,” she said, her voice dry. “Your previous manager was apparently using the Chianti to settle his gambling debts with the drivers.”
Nico Bellandi did not answer immediately. He sat down on the low wooden crate across from her desk, his long legs stretching across the narrow concrete floor. He was wearing a dark gray flannel suit today, his tie loose at the collar, looking less like a Don and more like an architect who had spent the day inspecting a construction site.
“You don't look surprised to see me, Mara,” he said.
“You own the building, sir. You’re allowed to look at your concrete.”
“My mother wants you to come to the house on Sunday,” Nico said, ignoring her dry tone. “She’s making the sauce from the old village. She says the girls in the neighborhood don't know how to chop the parsley correctly. She wants someone who knows how to follow an instruction.”
Mara stopped typing. She looked at him through the glare of the monitor. “Mr. Bellandi, I am an employee of your restaurant. I am not a companion for your mother.”
Nico leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his dark green eyes boring into hers with a sudden, suffocating intensity that made the small boiler room feel hot. “You think this is a game, Mara? You think I’m trying to buy a girl for the old lady?”
“I think Bianca Vail’s father has three trucks parked outside the front entrance of Bellafior right now,” Mara said, her voice dropping into a hard, professional register. “And I think Mr. Pell told the kitchen staff that the Vail family is pulling their logistics contract from the North Side warehouses. You’re in a war with your fiancée’s family, Mr. Bellandi, and you’re using your mother’s birthday dinner as the first bullet.”
Nico’s face went entirely still—that terrifying, flat slate that Mara had seen in the dining room the week before. For five seconds, the only sound was the rhythmic thrum of the water heater.
Then, he let out a short, low laugh that sounded like gravel being kicked into a dry well.
“You’re smarter than Pell,” Nico murmured. “Pell thinks I’m mad because I threw away a twenty-million-dollar alliance for an old woman’s seat. He doesn't understand that if I let Bianca move my mother to the back of the room today, the street will think they can move me to the back of the city tomorrow. In my world, Mara, there is no such thing as a small insult. Every card you move is a territory you’re giving up.”
May you like
He stood up, his massive frame blocking out the light from the corridor. He reached into his coat and laid a small piece of paper on her keyboard. It was an address in the high, gated hills of Lake Forest.
“Sunday at one,” Nico said. “The car will pick you up at twelve. Don't wear the uniform. My mother hates the smell of restaurant bleach.”
