Chapter 3 - The King in the Corner
The walk back to the fireplace table felt to Emily like walking through a dream where the gravity had shifted. The noise in the main dining room had died down completely. The guests at the nearby tables, having noticed Dominic Moretti’s sudden movement, were watching the corner with a mixture of intense curiosity and fear.
Emily set the silver tray down on the white linen with a light, precise touch. "Your black tea, Mr. Vance. And the warm milk for your daughter."
Julian Vance looked up from his cup. His expression wasn't one of triumph or anger; it was perfectly serene, the face of a man who lived so far above the petty cruelties of the world that Vanessa’s malice hadn't even scratched his skin.
"Thank you, Emily," he said softly. He looked at her bare hands. "Where is your apron?"
"I... I left it in the back, sir," Emily said, keeping her chin up. "I don't think I’ll be needing it anymore tonight."
"I see," Julian said.
Before he could say more, the heavy fabric of the velvet curtain was pulled back, and Dominic Moretti stepped into the booth space. The old mafia boss didn't sit down; instead, he stood with his hands folded in front of his formal suit, his posture remarkably humble for a man who controlled half the illicit commerce in the state.
"Julian," Moretti said, offering a short, respectful nod of his head. "It’s been a long time since you came south of the river."
Julian didn't stand up. He didn't offer his hand. He simply looked at the old Don with the steady, unblinking gaze of a predator that had already won the territory. "Dominic. I didn't expect to see you at Bellavere on a Tuesday. I thought you preferred the steakhouses on Cicero."
"The food is better here," Moretti said, a rough chuckle escaping his chest. "Though the service at the front door leaves something to be desired tonight. I was just telling the manager that she needs to learn how to read a room."
"The manager was simply doing her job," Julian said, his tone entirely flat. "She was protecting the standards of the establishment. She felt that a man with snow on his coat and a child in his arms didn't meet the financial requirements for a white tablecloth."
Moretti’s eyes darted toward the hallway where Vanessa was currently standing, her body frozen against the wall, her face the color of skim milk. "If you want her gone, Julian, I can have my boys handle the transition before the snow stops. No paperwork needed."
"No," Julian said, his hand moving to gently stroke the dark curls of his daughter, who was beginning to stir against his shoulder. "We don't live in your century anymore, Dominic. We use contracts now. They hurt much longer."
The little girl let out a long, soft sigh, her pink winter hat slipping off her head to reveal a mass of glossy, dark curls. Her small brown eyes blinked open, fixed instantly on the silver teapot.
"Daddy?" she whispered, her voice rough with sleep. "Are we at the castle?"
"We’re at a restaurant, Maya," Julian said, his face transforming instantly from cold stone into a warmth that made Emily’s chest tighten. "This is Emily. She brought you some warm milk for your birthday."
Maya looked at Emily, then at the milk, and finally at the white cake box. "Did she bring the candles too?"
"I can find some candles, Maya," Emily said, her heart melting completely as she knelt beside the booth. "What color do you want?"
May you like
"Pink," the little girl said proudly. "Because I'm five today."
Julian looked across the table at Emily, his amber eyes reflecting the firelight. "Find the candles, Emily. And then come back. We have a new management structure to discuss."
