Clemenza studies me for a long moment, dark eyes gleaming with an unsettling interest that makes me want to turn and run. At last he shrugs, waving a hand. "Get me my coffee. Quickly."
"Right away, Mr. Clemenza."
I have to handle Chef Laurentverydelicately. But a little later, as Mr. Clemenza sips his coffee and bites into a croissant despite his objections, his eyes still follow me around the patio, suspicious and menacing.
The rest of the breakfast service passes in a blur of demands and thinly-veiled hostility between the factions that continues on as I go about my duties for the day. The pressure is building with every step I take through the Manor.
But I have one encounter that lifts the faint feeling of dread. Raffi DeLuca makes an appearance in the formal dining room when I'm correcting the place settings for the parley discussions which will take place here.
"Everything alright, Darian?" His voice startles me out of my thoughts from the doorway, his brow furrowed.
I force a smile to mask my anxiety. "Just making sure everything is perfect."
"Tony Clemenza seemed to be giving you a hard time during breakfast."
"Oh—Mr. Clemenza had a special request, that's all."
He gives me a long look, as though trying to figure out if that's all it was, but he doesn't press further. "He gives you any trouble, you come to me. Understand?"
"Yes, I-I understand, Raffi."
Is it my imagination, or does he suck in a sharp breath as I say his name? Should I not have done that? But he told me last night?—
Before I can decide if I've made afaux pas, he repeats, "Any trouble at all," then nods goodbye and disappears back into the hallway.
But even that brief exchange soothes my nerves a little. There's someone looking out for me. The warm feeling in my chest that's been there since last night flames into life again, and I smile down at the table as I straighten a notepad and pen to perfect symmetry.
The parley discussions begin at ten, with a break for lunch and another scheduled later in the afternoon. But by two o'clock, I'm exhausted again. The demands don't stop: coffee, coffee, fresh water, coffee, new pens, coffee…
So, desperate for a moment of peace, I retreat to my private break room, a small sanctuary, and sink down at the table with a sigh of relief as I contemplate the vichyssoise and sandwiches Chef left for my late lunch. Both look delicious, but I can only pick at them, finding it difficult to relax.
My mind wanders to Raffi, whom I've only managed to glimpse once or twice the whole day. I never thought I'd miss his teasing, but now that I think about it, his teasing only ever makes me feel a little bit stronger. A little more reassured.
And I'dlikea little reassurance, I can't deny it. All these dark conversations, the probing questions from Tony Clemenza, the undercurrent of hatred…
It all feels like a time bomb, ticking and ticking, about to explode.
And then—all at once—it does.
The door to my break room bursts open, and Donnie Russo storms in. I jump up, startled.
"My Boss wants food," Russo snaps. "Now. He doesn't want to wait for the break."
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze steadily. "Of course, Mr. Russo. I'll bring something to him immediately."
But Russo doesn't leave. He crowds closer, backing me against the table, his breath hot on my face and reeking of alcohol. I've seen him swigging from a flask throughout the meeting, and his piggy little eyes are red-rimmed. He smirks as I cower back, clearly enjoying the power he holds over me. "You know, you're a pretty little thing," he drawls.
He grabs my arm.
I'm ten years old again, and my bully is standing over me, the one who left me with bruises and nightmares. But Russo is much worse than any childhood bully, and the stakes are far higher than they ever were back then.
"Mr. Russo." I force the words out through gritted teeth. "If you would kindly let go of my arm, I will be happy to attend to whatever Mr. Bernardi needs."
"You think you're so smart." His hand wraps tighter around my arm, making me cry out. "Think you can make everyone laugh at me. When we take over here, I'm gonna make you cry, pretty boy. And then I'll make you mine. You'd like that, eh?"
I can't stop the panic rising inside me. He's twice my size and there's no escape, no one to call for help. The kitchenoutside the break room is empty, the staff resting before dinner preparations commence.
I'm alone. Alone and terrified.
