Behind me, Vin fills the doorway, bristling. “Does she need help or not?”
“Lisa!”
“I’m—okay. I’m—okay.” Every word is punctuated by a thrust and the metallic bang of the table against the lockers. “I’m—sorry—Chef!”
I back out and slam the door, shaking. I can’t meet Vin’s eyes.
What the fuck is Rocco thinking? Is this to punish me for ending things with him? For sending him home? For Vin? I’m a three-star Michelin rated chef. I cannot have a rogue sous chef in my establishment fucking my staff in the break room and defying me at every turn.
“You look upset, princess.” Vin is smirking at me, as I stare into the kitchen blindly, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening to my life. “You bothered that your girl is getting laid at work? Technically, she was off the clock.”
I don’t move or respond, my mind racing.
Vin’s voice sharpens. “Or is this about the guy? You’re fucking him, and you’re jealous.”
I whirl on him, scowling. “Vincenzo, this is a work issue. That’s it.”
Vin narrows his eyes at me, catching my chin, gentle but firm, and turns my face toward the light. “Still just blushing? Tell me why your face looks like that.”
I jerk away. “So you’re calling me a liarandugly. Thanks so much.”
“No, princess.” His voice softens. “You’re beautiful. But one side of your face is red and swollen, and I want to know if you’re okay.”
Beautiful. Rolling my eyes, I scan the kitchen, looking for something heavy I can throw. Beautiful I am not. “Do not play with me right now, Vincenzo.”
“Play with you? I want to help.”
This ismyfreaking restaurant,mystaff,mykitchen. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Rocco intimidate me. I start tossingthrough cooking utensils, pans, lids, throwing the heaviest ones onto a metal rolling cart.
“Oh yeah, Vin? You want to help me?” I grab my meat cleaver and toss it onto the cart with a clang. “How are you going to do that?”
“If you want, I could bend you over that counter and do to you what he’s doing to her. Even things up.”
I huff out a breath, shoving past him with the cart. “You want to help me, Vin? Get behind me.”
Vin grins. “That’s how it starts, princess.”
I whip the door open and hoist a heavy cast-iron skillet over my head. “Rocco! Get the frig off her and get out of myfreakingrestaurant. Right. Now.”
Rocco doesn’t even glance my way, just keeps pounding into Lisa. I don’t hesitate. I throw the skillet, hitting him in the back of the head with a satisfying thunk. He rears back, roaring, but I’m already reaching for the next pan. This one catches him square between the shoulder blades. Rocco rips away from Lisa, sweat on his brow and his dick out. I snatch the cleaver off the cart and take a step toward him as he lunges.
Vin throws me backward, putting himself between us. “Fuck with someone your own size, fucker.”
“Vincenzo!” He half glances at me over his shoulder, and I lower my voice. “Behindme. This is my kitchen.”
Vin grumbles something under his breath and shifts to the side. He’s still in front of me but no longer blocking my line of sight.
I meet Rocco’s eyes. “Get out. We’re done here.”
“You don’t tell me what to do, bitch,” Rocco grinds out, fists clenched, knuckles white.
Vin growls and takes a step forward, but I cut him off.
“In my restaurant, yes, I do.” My voice is icy. “You and I will discuss the terms of your employment when you are ready tohave a calm, respectful conversation. Until then, you are banned from the Arsenal.”
Rocco tucks himself back into his pants, eyes locked on Vin. “No conversation needed.”
As he moves toward the door and toward me, Vin blocks his path, silent and immovable. The two men face off, chests heaving, as Lisa scrambles to pull up her leggings and fix her hair behind Rocco.
