Chapter 2 - The Shadow of the Past
Alessandro leaned forward, resting his forearms on the white tablecloth, his eyes narrowing as he dissected Sophie with a gaze that had made hardened syndicate bosses beg for mercy.
"You speak French," Alessandro said, his low baritone vibrating across the table. It wasn't a question; it was an audit. "Not the kitchen-French of line cooks or the rehearsed patter of hospitality students. The French of someone who grew up walking the banks of the Seine."
Camilla recovered her voice, her face flushing an ugly, mottled crimson. "Alessandro, she’s lying! She’s probably a failed actress or a scam artist! Look at her clothes! Get her fired, Laurent! Fire her right now!"
Laurent stepped forward, wringing his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. "Signor Moretti, please, I apologize for the insolence of the staff—"
"Shut up, Laurent," Alessandro commanded without raising his voice. The maître d’ snapped his mouth shut instantly, choking on his own apology.
Alessandro never took his eyes off Sophie. "I didn't ask for apologies. I asked a question."
Sophie met his gaze, her heart hammering against her ribs, refusing to shrink back. "My accent is a matter of geography, Monsieur Moretti. My current employment is a matter of survival. If you require the '82 Lafite, I can have Jean-Luc retrieve it from the cellar. If not, I can take your order for the vintage you actually came here to drink."
A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Alessandro’s chest. It was a sound so rare that his bodyguards instinctively shifted their weight, unnerved by their boss’s amusement.
"Bring me the Lafite," Alessandro said softly, his eyes glinting with a sharp, calculating curiosity. "And bring it yourself. Do not let the sommelier touch it."
"Right away, Monsieur," Sophie said, turning on her heel with clinical precision and walking toward the kitchen doors.
Behind her, she heard Camilla hiss, "She’s mocking you, Alessandro! Why are you looking at her like that?"
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Sophie slipped through the swinging doors into the chaotic heat of the kitchen, leaning against the stainless-steel prep table to catch her breath. Her hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn't from hunger. It was adrenaline. She had stepped out of the shadows. She had exposed a fraction of who she really was.
And in doing so, she had caught the attention of the most dangerous man on the Eastern Seaboard.
