Chapter 7
The heavy swinging doors of the kitchen closed behind Maya, instantly cutting off the refined, quiet ambiance of the dining room. Here, the air was thick with the smell of garlic, simmering tomatoes, and the frantic heat of a busy New York kitchen. Maya leaned back against the cool stainless-steel prep counter, her breathing shallow and ragged. She had convinced Dante to let her finish the last hour of her shift, buying herself a brief moment of escape from his suffocating presence.
Tony Martinelli immediately stepped away from the stove, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his dark restaurant vest. He approached Maya, his warm, lined face etched with deep concern.
"Maya, what happened out there?" Tony asked, keeping his voice low as the line cooks worked furiously around them. "Marco is in the office hyperventilating while sending security footage to Russo’s men. What did that man say to you?"
Maya pulled the folded check from the pocket of her black apron. Her hands were shaking violently as she handed it to Tony.
Tony unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the numbers. He gasped, his face draining of color. He quickly shoved the check back into Maya’s hand.
"He wants me to work for him," Maya whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her panic. "He wants me to move into his estate and be a nanny for Sophia. He said she needs me to help her remember what happened to his wife."
"No," Tony said instantly, grabbing Maya by the shoulders. His voice was uncharacteristically fierce. "Listen to me, Maya. You hand that check back to him. You tell him you are flattered, but you cannot do it."
"Tony, he wasn't asking," Maya pleaded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You saw the way he looked at me. If I say no, he might hurt us. He might hurt the restaurant."
"Dante Russo is death, Maya," Tony warned, his grip tightening on her shoulders. "I have run this restaurant for thirty years. I knew his father. I know the men Dante runs with. They do not live in the same world we do. If you step into his house, you become a piece on his chessboard. And in his world, pawns get sacrificed first."
"But Sophia," Maya argued, her natural empathy fighting against her terror. "She's just a little girl, Tony. She was terrified. She drew a picture of the car that took her mother, and she only showed it to me. She needs help."
"She has an army of armed guards to help her!" Marco hissed, suddenly appearing from the office corridor. The manager looked pale, sweating profusely in his formal black suit. "Maya, you have to go with him. If you refuse Dante Russo, he will burn Bellanote to the ground just to make a point. Take the money. Save up for your bakery. Just keep your head down and do what he says!"
"Marco, shut up," Tony snapped angrily. "She is a young woman, she is not a shield for this restaurant."
"It's already done," Maya said, her voice dropping to a defeated whisper. "He bought me, Tony. He looked at me, and he knew exactly what it would take to trap me."
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Tony looked into Maya’s exhausted, fearful eyes and sighed heavily, pulling her into a brief, paternal hug. "Then you must be very careful, Maya. Do not ask questions. Do not pry into his business. Take care of the child, and the moment you are no longer needed, you run."
Maya nodded slowly, wiping her eyes. She tied her long brown hair back tighter, smoothed out her simple white blouse, and prepared to walk back out into the dining room. She was no longer just a waitress trying to save a few dollars. She had just been drafted into a mafia war.
