Right now, it feels like a warning.
Say the wrong thing and the restaurant will feel it.
“He says the manager is a riot,” the capo says, picking up his phone and glancing at the screen, where he must be getting updates.
I force my eyelids to stay open and not fall shut the way they want to. Not let on that Lexi means anything to me. That she’s someone to target if they want me to cooperate.
“Pain in my ass mostly,” I try to joke, like we’re just talking among old friends.
“You still happy cooking?” he asks, eyes too intent on mine.
“Yeah,” I answer honestly. “Favorite thing I’ve ever done.”
He nods his head, bobbing it slowly. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
My brows pop up at that. “Is it?”
Placing his elbows on his knees, he leans forward and I follow his lead and do the same, bringing our faces closer.
No part of me isn’t tracking every breath his bodyguard takes though.
“We’re looking for a chef,” he says, eyebrows dancing, like the offer is enticing.
“Like a personal chef?” I clarify.
Gotta admit, I’d rather cook food for these men than do the dirty work of them.
Could be worse, I guess, all things considered.
“Nah.” He sits back, waving his stumpy hand again. “Opening a restaurant in Cobble Hill. Someplace classy. The kinda place that needs a real visionary at the helm.”
A restaurant?
Reeling backward, I try to absorb what he’s telling me.
“I don’t follow.”
“We want you to run the restaurant, Amante. It’s all yours. The menu, the aesthetic, whatever you want. We fund it,” he gestures to himself, then to me. “You bring it to life.”
My jaw, the chiseled traitor, drops.
“Five stars,” he goes on. “The whole shebang. We’re diversifying our portfolio.” The capo winks at me.
“Going clean?” I ask him, because that’s just too good to be true.
“For your purposes, yeah.” He chuckles, and it’s enough to tell me that behind the scenes, it wouldn’t all be above board.
But what I would be involved with, that would be. Mostly.
“So you’re not trying to get me back?” I clarify.
“Back? Kid, I let you walk. You think I’m gonna go back on my word? That hurts.”
“Your note wasn’t very…informative.”
He shrugs. “Old habits die hard. Don’t need no one knowin’ our business ’til we want ’em to.”
“And the business is a restaurant,” I add on, deadpan.
