Chapter 3 - The Price of Exposure
The next morning, the papers were full of the gala, but the headlines were focused on the "mysterious chef who held the room." My picture was everywhere—candid, looking focused, looking strong.
I walked into the Copper Spoon to find Aunt Diane standing by the counter, holding a copy of the Post.
"Nadia," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I hear you're the talk of the town. Is this the new plan? Associating with thugs?"
I walked behind the counter, my face impassive. "I’m associating with people who respect what I do, Diane. Unlike you."
"You're going to get yourself killed," she hissed, leaning over the glass case. "People are talking about the syndicate. They're talking about the Cho family. You're a target now."
"I was a target the day I was born into your family," I said, grabbing a bag of flour. "At least now I have someone watching my back."
She laughed, but it sounded hollow. "He'll use you. He'll throw you away the moment you’re no longer a novelty."
I didn't answer. I just kept working. But late that afternoon, I received a call from Julian.
"The man you confronted at the gala," he said. "He’s an associate of the guys who run the northern docks. They aren't happy about the publicity. I need you to stay home tonight."
"I have dinner service," I said.
"Cancel it."
"Julian, I’m not a child you can put in a timeout."
"It's not a timeout, it's a precaution. Someone tried to firebomb one of my cafes this morning. This is getting ugly, Nadia. I never intended for you to be in the crossfire."
"I'm already in the crossfire," I said, looking at the door. "If I stay home, I’m just hiding. I won't hide."
I didn't cancel dinner. I stayed open. And when a group of men in dark jackets walked in at 8:00 PM, I didn't panic. I went out to the floor.
"We heard the food here is 'to die for,'" the leader said, a man with a jagged scar across his brow.
"It is," I said, picking up a heavy cast-iron pan from the pass. "But we’re out of reservations. Get out."
"Or what?"
He reached for something in his jacket, but he didn't get a chance. Marcus Lee appeared from the shadows of the doorway, his gun pressed firmly against the man’s ribs.
"Or he’ll kill you," I said calmly. "And I’ll have to clean the floor. I really don't want to clean the floor again."
The men scrambled out, leaving the restaurant in a state of stunned silence. I turned to Marcus. "Thank you."
"Mr. Cho is outside," Marcus said.
I walked out to the street. Julian was leaning against his car, looking exhausted. "I told you to close."
May you like
"I don't take orders, Julian," I said, stepping into his space. "I take chances. And I'm starting to think you do, too."
He looked at me, really looked at me, and in the neon light of the Brooklyn street, I saw the weariness of a man who had fought too many wars. "I do," he whispered. "Especially for you."
