Chapter 2 - The Dropped Bread and the Dangerous Gaze
"Turn around, sweetheart, you are serving dinner, not guarding a state penitentiary."
Vanessa Bellini's voice cut through the polite murmurs of the dining room with the sharpness of a razor blade.
She laughed musically, inviting a few chuckles from the visiting executives seated to her left.
I froze mid-step, my heart slamming violently against my ribs as I continued backing away from the table.
"I am simply trying to be thorough, ma'am," I murmured, keeping my voice as low and submissive as humanly possible.
"Well, your thoroughness is entirely lacking in grace tonight, Emma," Vanessa snapped, her smile turning brittle at the edges.
"Emma, I asked you for more bread five minutes ago while you were daydreaming by the sideboard."
She pointed a manicured finger directly toward the heavy silver basket resting awkwardly in my trembling hands.
"Or have you completely forgotten how to perform basic hospitality tasks during your shift?"
The entire table went quiet, twenty pairs of wealthy eyes suddenly shifting their collective weight onto my humble presence.
I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced my legs to step forward toward her chair.
"My apologies, Mrs. Bellini," I whispered, leaning my upper body forward to present the basket at the proper angle.
The simple act of extending my arm pulled cruelly against the raw, jagged scrape across my back.
A bolt of white-hot agony shot from my shoulder blade all the way down to my lower spine.
My vision blurred for a fraction of a second, the glittering chandeliers swimming in a sea of bright white spots.
My fingers lost their strength, the silver basket tipping dangerously forward in my loosening grip.
Before I could correct the motion, two golden dinner rolls tumbled out and bounced awkwardly across the pristine white damask tablecloth.
Vanessa pushed her chair back with a screech of polished wood against hardwood flooring.
"For God's sake!" she hissed, glaring down at the fallen bread as if I had dropped a live grenade in her lap.
"Look what you have done to the table setting! Are you entirely clumsy, or are you just sabotaging my dinner party on purpose?"
I immediately dropped to my knees, reaching out with trembling fingers to retrieve the stray rolls before they stained the expensive linen.
"I am so sorry, ma'am," I stammered, my cheeks burning with mortification as the heat rushed to my face.
"Do not touch it with your bare hands!" Vanessa shrieked, lifting her silk skirts slightly as if my mere proximity was toxic.
"You have probably got dirt and filth all over your skin from whatever menial chores you were slacking off on earlier."
Before I could defend myself against her cruel public accusation, a deep, resonant voice cut through the tension like a falling guillotine.
"Emma."
The single word carried no volume, yet it commanded absolute silence across the massive dining hall.
I froze on the floor, my stomach tightening into a hard, painful knot of pure dread.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?" I replied, not daring to lift my eyes from the floorboards.
"Stand up right now."
I slowly rose to my feet, keeping my injured side angled away from the seated crowd as best as I could.
"Yes, sir?"
Luca Moretti slowly set his heavy silver fork down beside his plate, the metallic clink echoing in the breathless silence.
His dark gaze locked onto my face with a terrifying intensity that made my knees feel like water.
"Turn around."
My breath caught in my throat, my entire world narrowing down to the space between my shoulder blades.
If I turned around, the entire room—including twenty-six of Chicago's most powerful people—would see the torn uniform and the bloody scrape.
And before I could formulate a desperate excuse or beg for mercy, Vanessa gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Luca, leave the poor girl alone," she interjected quickly, her voice pitching up in an unnatural cadence.
"She caught her uniform on the kennel gate this afternoon while doing chores outside. Apparently, she cannot even feed a dog without destroying her company clothes."
Luca slowly turned his head, fixing his cold, analytical gaze entirely upon his fiancée.
"The kennel?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low.
Vanessa swallowed hard, her red lips parting slightly as she realized she had spoken too fast.
"Yes, darling, she was out back helping with Bruno earlier today."
My hands instantly turned freezing cold at the mention of that name.
May you like
Because Vanessa had just crossed the one boundary she had explicitly warned me never to breach under threat of immediate termination.
And worse than that—Bruno was not even in his kennel anymore.
