Chapter 7 - A Table for One in the Corner
A week passed before Salvatore Marquetti returned to the upscale restaurant. The evening rush was already bleeding into a chaotic blur of clattering silverware and shouted orders when I spotted him walking through the velvet-curtained entrance. He was dressed in the same immaculate black suit, vest, and tie, the silver rings on his fingers catching the warm, low chandelier light as he unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat at the exact same corner table.
My stomach gave a sharp, involuntary tug. Across the floor, Marcus, one of the senior floor captains, started toward him with a leather-bound menu, eager to intercept a high-value guest. But Salvatore raised a single finger, his dark gaze scanning the room until it locked onto me, standing near the service station with my silver tray. He gave a slight, unmistakable nod.
Marcus stopped in his tracks, looking bewildered as Salvatore waved him off and pointed directly at me. I took a steadying breath, adjusted my black apron, and walked across the white-clothed expanse of the dining room.
"Good evening, Mr. Marquetti," I said, keeping my voice low and professional as I reached his side. "I didn't expect to see you back so soon."
"Good evening, Tisa," he replied, using the name I had given him the first night. His lips curved into a faint, dry smile. "I was in the neighborhood. And I found the service here quite memorable."
"The menu hasn't changed much in a week," I said, offering the leather folder.
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"I'm not here for the menu," Salvatore said, holding my gaze with an intensity that made the surrounding noise of the crowded room fade into a distant hum. "I'm here because I prefer consistency."
He didn't order immediately. Instead, he asked for a glass of dry red wine, his fingers resting casually on the crisp white tablecloth. There was no rush in his manner, no urgency to flag down the waitstaff. He sat with the easy confidence of a man who owned the clock, letting the silence stretch just long enough to test my boundaries. I stood my ground, my hands resting lightly on my tray, refusing to fidget under his scrutiny. When I finally turned to leave to place his order, I felt the unmistakable weight of his eyes following every step I took toward the kitchen doors.
