Chapter 2 - Under the Chandelier Glow
The silver platter rested flat and heavy upon the polished mahogany, the carved roasted turkey steaming softly in the amber pool of light cast by the chandelier above. I kept my chin tucked just enough to maintain the proper posture expected of a house maid, my black uniform dress smoothed down over my hips, the stiff white collar biting lightly against the skin of my throat. My left arm, however, felt disconnected from the rest of my body. Beneath the dark fabric of my sleeve, the thick loops of white medical gauze pressed tight against a jagged, throbbing bruise that radiated fire every time my pulse spiked.
At the head of the table, the mob boss didn't look at the food. His dark suit jacket remained buttoned, his shirt collar stark against his throat, and his eyes stayed fixed somewhere between the edge of the silver platter and the hem of my cuff. The sharp, calculating gaze he had leveled at me moments ago hadn't softened; it had simply shifted into a quiet, measuring stillness.
"Leave the silver set," the boss said, his voice low and gravelly, cutting cleanly through the ambient room hum of the private dining room. He didn't raise his voice, yet the men seated along the dark wood paneling immediately quieted their murmurs.
"Yes, sir," I murmured back, keeping my tone flat, stripped of any tremor.
The boss turned his head slightly toward the man seated to his immediate right—a broad-shouldered individual with graying temples who wore a heavy gold signet ring on his right index finger. "The dock shipments from the north terminal," the boss continued, picking up his wine glass by the stem. The diegetic clinking of glass against the mahogany signaled the resumption of business, but his peripheral vision remained entirely locked on my stance. "If the city councilman thinks he can stall the permits another week, remind him where his daughter's tuition is paid."
"Already handled," the man on the right replied, flashing a brief, humorless smile. He reached out casually across the white linen tablecloth to grab a heavy silver salt cellar, his hand sweeping backward in a wide, sweeping arc.
I was standing too close. As his elbow cut through the air, it caught my left forearm squarely, driving the sensitive, gauze-wrapped flesh directly against the sharp corner of the oak chair back.
A sharp gasp hitched in my throat before I could swallow it down. My knees buckled a fraction of an inch, a white-hot spike of agony blooming from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder. For a second, the distant city skyline outside the tall windows blurred into streaks of amber and gray light.
The man with the signet ring didn't even notice. He simply sprinkled salt onto his plate and continued talking about shipping manifests.
But the boss saw.
His hand stopped mid-gesture, the wine glass hovering an inch above the table. The silence at the head of the table grew heavy, dense with a sudden, suffocating alertness. He didn't issue an order, and he didn't demand an explanation, but his eyes narrowed with a terrifying, absolute focus that made my breath catch in my chest.
May you like
Slowly, fighting the nausea clawing at my throat, I shifted my weight to my right foot and slid backward, inch by inch, easing myself out of the immediate circle of the table and back toward the dim shadows near the dark wood paneling where the service carts waited. My left arm hung limp and burning against my side, the hidden medical gauze feeling as heavy as a lead weight under the sleeve of my uniform.
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