Chapter 3 - The Offer on LaSalle
The dinner was a legendary success, though not a single item from Chef Laurent’s multi-course tasting menu touched Salvatore’s plate. Penelope personally instructed the kitchen to prepare simple, rustic pasta with crushed tomatoes, garlic, and fresh basil, cooked precisely the way Agatha had taught her.
Salvatore ate two full plates, drank three glasses of deep red Nero d'Avola, and spent two hours talking with Penelope in rapid-fire Sicilian, laughing until his face turned red.
Dominic sat quietly beside his father, speaking little, observing every movement Penelope made. He noticed how efficiently she cleared the table, how gracefully she moved her full-figured body despite the cramped space between tables, and how she treated the most feared crime boss in the tri-state area like an endearing old uncle.
At midnight, the Moretti motorcade assembled outside on the wet Manhattan pavement.
As Salvatore was helped into the back of a black armored limousine by his bodyguards, he grabbed Penelope’s hand tightly, pressing a thick, gold ring against her palm. "You come visit me, bedda. You bring bread."
"I will, Mr. Moretti," Penelope promised warmly.
When the limousine door closed, Dominic remained standing on the sidewalk under the glowing awning of Bellafonte. Rain dripped from the edge of his black umbrella. He looked at Penelope, who was standing in the doorway holding her thin coat against the autumn chill.
Martin Galloway stepped up beside Dominic, bowing nervously. "Mr. Moretti, I apologize again for the... unorthodox service tonight. Rest assured, Penelope will be disciplined for breaking protocol—"
"Galloway," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping into an icy register that made Martin freeze.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"You are fired."
Martin blinked, his mouth dropping open. "W-what?"
"You heard me," Dominic said calmly, pulling a sleek leather card case from his inner coat pocket. "You put a woman of genuine talent and heritage in the back hallway because she doesn't look like a magazine cutout. You have terrible judgment, terrible taste, and you ruined my father's mood for twenty minutes."
Dominic stepped past the stunned manager and handed a heavy, silver-embossed business card to Penelope.
"What is this?" Penelope asked, looking down at the card. It read: Dominic Moretti, CEO – Moretti Hospitality & Development.
"Bellafonte is one of fourteen fine-dining establishments owned by my parent company," Dominic said, stepping closer to her, his cologne carrying the rich scent of cedarwood and dark tobacco. "As of midnight, Martin is gone. I want you to take over as General Manager of this restaurant."
Penelope stared at him, letting out a sharp, skeptical laugh. "Are you serious? I’m a size-sixteen waitress with a tomato stain on my sleeve."
Dominic’s dark eyes swept over her with an intense, raw appreciation that made her heart skip a beat. "I don't care about your dress size, Penelope. I care that you turned a cold room into a home in six words. You triple your salary starting tomorrow. Take the job."
May you like
Penelope looked at the card, then looked up into the eyes of the most dangerous man in New York. "If I take it, I change the menu. Real food. No more pretension."
A faint, brilliant smile broke across Dominic’s handsome face. "Deal."
