Chapter 9 - The New Hierarchy
Three days later, the private dining room at Bellavita was empty.
Brett, Carla, and Owen had been quietly fired by the restaurant owner on Friday morning, given two hours to clear their lockers after management reviewed security footage of them harassing staff in the service hallway.
Tessa stood behind the bar, wiping down the polished wood counter, wearing a crisp black blazer instead of her old apron.
The heavy front door opened, and Salvatore Marquetti walked in.
He wasn't alone this time, but Sterling stayed outside by the curb. Salvatore walked straight to the bar, his dark eyes warm—as warm as they ever got—as he looked at her.
He didn't sit down. He raised his hands, signing with slow, deliberate precision:
The logistics hub in the West Loop needs a new director of operations. Someone who knows how to spot a leak, manage a crisis, and speak the language of silence.
Tessa stopped wiping the counter. She laid the cloth down, looked him dead in the eye, and raised her own hands, her fingers moving with absolute confidence:
Does the job come with health insurance for my brother and a corner office?
May you like
Salvatore’s mouth curved into a slow, undeniable smile.
It comes with whatever you ask for, he signed back. And a seat at my table.
