The click of the bodyguards’ heavy leather shoes against the hardwood floor was the only sound in the room. They didn’t draw weapons; they didn’t need to. Their sheer physical presence—towering, broad-shouldered men in tailored dark suits—was enough to shift the atmospheric pressure of the entire restaurant.
Through the glass pane of the service door, I saw Brett’s face instantly lose all its smug, colorful arrogance. He tried to step back, to blend into the shadows of the kitchen hallway, but it was already too late.
The lead guard, a stern-faced man named Dominic, didn’t even look at Brett. He simply opened the door, his eyes locking onto my manager and the two whispering servers huddled behind him.
“Mr. Marquetti’s dinner is a private engagement,” Dominic said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that brooked absolutely no argument. “The management and staff will remain in the main dining area. If anyone else is caught hovering near this door, the restaurant’s lease with Marquetti Holdings will be re-evaluated. Tonight.”
Brett swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically. “Of… of course, Mr. Dominic. We were just checking to see if the… if Tessa was performing up to standard. We’ll leave them be.”
He backed away so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, dragging the other servers with him. The heavy oak door swung shut, and Dominic quietly clicked the lock into place from the inside, standing guard like a brick wall.
I stood frozen by the table, my hands still hovering in the air, suddenly very conscious of the vast difference in our social standing. Salvatore Marquetti was a king in this city; I was a girl who barely made rent.
Salvatore watched the door close, his expression returning to that calm, unreadable mask. But when he turned his gaze back to me, the sharpness in his eyes softened.
He raised his hands again, his movements fluid and elegant.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he signed. “Some people only understand boundary lines when they are drawn in steel.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my hands responding before my brain could stop them. “I understand. Thank you.”
“Sit,” he signed, gesturing to the empty leather chair across from him.
I hesitated, looking at the door, then at Dominic. “Mr. Marquetti, I’m on shift. If Brett sees me sitting with a guest—”
“Brett works for a man who leases this building from me,” Salvatore signed back, a trace of dark amusement in his eyes. “Tonight, you work for me. Sit, Tessa.”
As I slowly took the seat across from the most feared man in Chicago, I realized this wasn’t just a chance encounter—and the leather folder resting open on his table contained a name I knew all too well…
