Chapter 2 - The Service Kitchen Door
The swinging stainless-steel double doors leading to the kitchen flew open with a sharp, frantic rattle.
My mother, Sarah Carter, rushed into the dining room, wiping her hands on a stained white service apron. Her brown hair was tied back in an untidy bun, her face pale and exhausted from working twelve-hour shifts on feet supported by worn-out canvas sneakers.
"Rory!" Sarah gasped, her voice cracking with terror as she saw me standing near the private booth. "Rory, oh God, baby, I told you to stay in the back office!"
She ran across the dining room, heedless of the forty wealthy patrons staring at her, dropping to her knees on the floorboards, pulling me fiercely against her chest. Her hands were shaking violently as she buried her face in my red hoodie.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kane!" Sarah cried, looking up at the towering man with tears of frantic, desperate panic in her eyes. "Please don't be angry with her! She's only four! She wandered away while I was prepping the lunch salads! I'll take her home right now!"
Vincent turned around slowly from the bar.
When Sarah saw who was standing beside David Sterling, and saw Marco and the armed men guarding the perimeter, she pulled me tighter, her entire frame trembling with the instinct of a mother trying to shield her child from an executioner.
Vincent did not look at her with anger.
He walked over to where my mother knelt on the floor, stopped two paces away, and slowly bent down on one knee.
"Stand up, Sarah," Vincent said gently.
Sarah hesitated, then slowly rose to her feet, holding my hand tightly against her thigh.
"Your daughter did not wander away, Sarah," Vincent continued, his slate-gray eyes soft with unshakeable respect. "Your daughter brought me an invoice."
He held up the sheet of notebook paper.
Sarah’s breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes went wide with pure, mortified shock as she recognized her own handwriting and the purple crayon stars.
"Rory... what did you do?" Sarah whispered, tears spilling over her eyelashes.
"I asked the real boss to fix it, Mommy," I said proudly, looking up at her. "Because Mr. Sterling wouldn't listen."
Across the dining room, David Sterling attempted to edge toward the back hallway leading to his private office, but Marco stepped into his path, crossing his massive arms over his chest like an immovable steel wall.
Vincent stood up, turning his cold gaze back upon the restaurant owner.
"David," Vincent commanded.
May you like
Sterling flinched, clutching his hands together in front of his belt. "Yes, Mr. Kane?"
"Bring your master commercial ledger, your corporate checkbook, and your personal safe keys to table twelve," Vincent said, each word falling like a lead weight onto the floorboards. "You have two minutes. If you are thirty seconds late, I will have my logistics team impound every commercial refrigeration unit in this building before the lunch rush ends."
