Chapter 4
The tension in Bellanote was thick enough to slice with a steak knife. Maya stood awkwardly beside the booth, her hand still securely held by the little girl in the dark-blue velvet dress. Sophia’s grip was surprisingly strong, her small knuckles turning pale. Maya looked up at the towering figure of Dante Russo, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Dante stared at the connection between his daughter and the waitress. His mind, trained to calculate threats and execute brutal strategies, was struggling to process the scene. He looked at Maya’s simple white blouse, her tired eyes, and the loose strands of brown hair falling around her face.
"Sit down," Dante commanded. It wasn't a request; it was an order delivered with the absolute authority of a man who never had to ask twice.
Maya blinked, glancing nervously over her shoulder toward the kitchen. Tony was standing perfectly still, his eyes wide, giving her a subtle, frantic nod to comply.
"Mr. Russo, I really should get back to my tables," Maya attempted to say politely, trying to gently loosen her hand from Sophia’s grip. "I have a job to do."
"Your job right now is sitting in this booth," Dante said, his deep voice dropping an octave, carrying a subtle edge of danger. He gestured to the empty seat opposite him. "Sit."
Maya swallowed hard. She slowly slid into the plush velvet booth, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the cushion. Sophia immediately scrambled across the seat, moving her plate of untouched pasta out of the way, and pressed herself against Maya’s side. The child didn't let go of her hand, leaning her small head against Maya’s arm.
Dante slowly sat back down across from them. The flickering light of the candle illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw and the dark stubble on his cheeks. He leaned his forearms on the polished dark wood table, bringing himself closer to Maya.
"Who are you?" Dante asked softly, his pale gray eyes boring into hers.
"Maya," she answered quickly, her voice trembling slightly. "Maya Bennett. I'm just a waitress here."
"Just a waitress," Dante repeated, the skepticism heavy in his tone. "My daughter has been evaluated by the best trauma specialists in the state of New York for the past three days. None of them could get her to blink, let alone speak. You drop a crayon, and suddenly she has a voice. Why?"
"I don't know," Maya said honestly, her natural warmth breaking through her fear as she looked down at Sophia. "I just... I just talked to her like she was a regular kid. I didn't push her."
Before Dante could interrogate her further, Tony appeared at the edge of the table. The older man carried a fresh bottle of sparkling water, his hands shaking slightly.
"Mr. Russo," Tony interrupted, his voice overly cheerful, masking his profound anxiety. "Is everything alright here? I can have Maya replaced immediately if she has disturbed your evening."
Dante didn't even look at Tony. He kept his eyes locked on Maya.
"Leave the water, Tony. And clear the tables around us," Dante ordered coldly. "Nobody sits within twenty feet of this booth for the rest of the night."
Tony paled, setting the bottle down quickly. "Of course, Mr. Russo. Right away."
May you like
As Tony retreated, Sophia reached across the table with her free hand. She grabbed the purple crayon from the scattered pile. With her other hand still tightly holding Maya's, Sophia pressed the purple crayon to a white paper napkin and slowly began to draw.
Dante watched his daughter, the coldness leaving his face entirely, replaced by a desperate, aching hope. "Keep talking to her," he whispered to Maya. "Whatever you did... just keep doing it."
