Chapter 6 - The Woman at the Head of the Table
I accepted.
With conditions.
“No illegal business.”
“Agreed.”
“No pretending I don't notice questionable things.”
“Expected.”
“No firing people because they disagree with you.”
Dominic considered that.
“Define disagree.”
“Dominic.”
He smiled.
“Agreed.”
“And I choose restaurant staff based on ability.”
“Obviously.”
I stared at him.
“You say obviously, but apparently Bellafonte spent years hiring cheekbones.”
Within three months, everything changed.
So did Bellafonte.
I promoted Chloe because she was actually excellent when someone trained her.
Madison moved into events.
Chef Laurent stopped pretending he wasn't terrified of Salvatore.
And I hired servers based on competence.
One Tuesday afternoon, I found Salvatore sitting alone at table twelve.
He had two coffees.
“One is for you,” he said.
I sat.
“You're becoming predictable.”
“At seventy, predictability is called tradition.”
He pushed an envelope toward me.
“What is this?”
“Agatha's last letter.”
I stared at him.
“You had another?”
“She sent it shortly before she died.”
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“Because it wasn't mine.”
I opened it.
Agatha's handwriting filled one page.
Penelope, if you ever meet Salvatore again, remind him he still owes me twenty dollars.
I laughed so loudly three servers looked over.
Salvatore frowned.
“She remembered that?”
I kept reading.
Then stopped.
And if you meet his boy, do not be intimidated. Moretti men look frightening because nobody teaches them how to smile.
I looked toward the entrance.
Dominic had just walked inside.
Black suit.
Dark hair.
That same intimidating expression.
I started laughing again.
“What?” Dominic asked.
“Agatha had you figured out before meeting you.”
“That sounds concerning.”
Salvatore stood.
“I suddenly have somewhere else to be.”
“You've been sitting here for forty minutes,” Dominic said.
“Now I have somewhere else.”
He left.
Dominic sat across from me.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“That's never true.”
I folded the letter.
Dominic studied me.
“You're happy here?”
The question surprised me.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to ask you something.”
My stomach tightened.
He placed a small box on the table.
I stared at it.
“Dominic.”
“Relax.”
“I've watched enough movies to know boxes from mafia bosses are rarely relaxing.”
He opened it.
Inside was a key.
“To what?”
“Bellafonte.”
“I already have keys.”
“Not that kind.”
He slid a contract across the table.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
Then looked up.
“Ten percent?”
“Ownership.”
“You're giving me ten percent of Bellafonte?”
“No.”
He leaned back.
“I'm selling it to you.”
“For how much?”
“One dollar.”
“That's giving.”
“Technically, it's a transaction.”
“No.”
“Penelope.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you can't keep solving problems by throwing expensive things at me.”
He looked genuinely frustrated.
“I don't.”
“You offered to pay my rent.”
“Your apartment had been burglarized.”
“You offered me a six-figure job.”
“You deserved it.”
“Now you're offering me part of a restaurant.”
“You rebuilt it.”
I paused.
Dominic leaned forward.
“I didn't choose ten percent randomly. Revenue is up twenty-eight percent. Staff turnover dropped by half. Private bookings doubled.”
“You memorized that?”
“I own the company.”
“Right.”
“I want you invested in what you're building.”
I looked at the contract again.
“One dollar?”
“One dollar.”
“Five thousand.”
“What?”
“I'll pay five thousand.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“So is one dollar.”
We argued for twenty minutes.
Salvatore eventually returned.
“Have you two finished negotiating your marriage?”
We both stared at him.
He blinked.
“Restaurant. I meant restaurant.”
“No, you didn't,” Dominic said.
Salvatore smiled.
“No.”
My face burned.
Dominic looked at me.
For once, the most intimidating man in Manhattan looked almost nervous.
Interesting.
May you like
Very interesting.
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