Chapter 12 - Whispers in the Back of House
The air in the restaurant's prep kitchen was thick with the scent of garlic, melted butter, and simmering stock. I was wiping down the stainless steel counter with a damp cloth, my mind still replaying the way Salvatore had looked standing on my apartment porch. A sharp clatter behind me broke my concentration. Brenda, one of the senior servers who had worked the floor for five years, slammed a tray of clean glassware onto the rack with unnecessary force. She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her black apron, her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.
"Word travels fast around here, Tisa," Brenda said, her voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and resentment. "Especially when black town cars are idling out by the employee exit at two in the morning. People are starting to ask questions."
I kept my movements deliberate, rinsing the cloth in the sink before wringing it out. "There's nothing to ask about, Brenda. It was just a ride."
"Just a ride?" She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "That man doesn't give rides to waitresses. Do you even know who he is? People like that don't just drop into our section for the soup of the day. He owns half the commercial real estate downtown, and the other half he probably bought with cash from a suitcase."
"He's a customer," I said, turning to face her, keeping my voice level and steady.
"He's trouble," Brenda countered, stepping closer. "And if management thinks you're getting cozy with high-rollers who bring heat into the dining room, they won't hesitate to cut your shifts. You think you're special because he looked at your hands? He's playing a game, and girls like us always end up footing the bill."
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I didn't blink under her gaze. The warning was laced with jealousy, but beneath the spite, there was a grain of genuine fear that hung in the air between us. I had lived my entire life relying on nobody but myself and making sure Leo was safe; I didn't need anyone telling me how fragile my footing was in this city.
"Thanks for the concern, Brenda," I said quietly, picking up my tray and walking past her toward the dining room doors. The heavy swing doors pushed open to reveal the warm, dim glow of the dining room. Salvatore wasn't there tonight—his table sat empty, covered in crisp white linen—but the weight of his presence seemed to linger in the room, shifting the ground beneath my feet in ways I was only beginning to understand.
