Chapter 2 - The Scandal at Table Twelve|
The crystal glass in Julianna’s manicured hand hit the white tablecloth with a sharp clatter.
Red wine crept across the linen like fresh blood.
The dining room seemed to lose all air in a single heartbeat.
Julianna’s eyes darted between Diego’s unyielding profile and the trembling woman standing over them in a stained black apron.
Her mouth opened, but only a sharp, ragged gasp came out.
Nelia felt the blood drain from her face until her vision blurred at the edges.
Her fingers tightened around the worn leather order pad so hard the cardboard backing cracked beneath her grip.
She took one involuntary step backward into the shadow of the alcove.
Diego did not look away from her.
His dark eyes were black pools of storm and fury, anchored completely to the swell beneath her uniform.
“Diego, what kind of sick joke is this?” Julianna finally hissed, her voice trembling with rising panic.
She reached out to touch his sleeve, but Diego pulled his arm away before her fingers could make contact.
He stood up slowly.
His towering frame dominated the small, private alcove, casting a long shadow over the table.
Several nearby patrons turned their heads, drawn by the sudden shift in atmosphere.
“You heard me,” Diego said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Nelia’s neck stand up.
He didn’t glance at Julianna even once.
Nelia’s heart hammered violently against her ribs like a trapped bird.
The baby gave a sudden, sharp flutter in response to her soaring adrenaline.
“You are mistaken, sir,” Nelia whispered, forcing the polite customer service tone through her parched throat.
Her voice was barely loud enough to reach his ears, but it trembled with unmistakable desperation.
“I am just your waitress.”
“Look at me and say that again,” Diego commanded softly.
The silence between them stretched into unbearable agony.
Julianna stood up as well, her chair screeching against the polished wood floor.
“Diego, sit down right now! Everyone is staring at us!”
Laurent, the maître d’, was already rushing forward, his hands clasped nervously in front of his tailored vest.
“Mr. Ramos, is there a problem with the service?” Laurent asked, his eyes darting frantically toward Nelia.
“Leave us,” Diego said without turning his head.
Laurent froze in his tracks, instantly recognizing the dangerous edge in the billionaire’s quiet command.
Nelia knew what that tone meant better than anyone in the room.
It was the voice of a man who commanded an empire where men vanished without leaving a trace.
Panic overtook her exhausting fatigue.
She turned on her worn heel and walked quickly toward the service door.
“Nelia, stop,” Diego’s voice echoed across the quiet restaurant.
She didn’t look back.
She pushed through the swinging double doors into the loud, brightly lit kitchen.
Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps as the smell of garlic, searing butter, and grease hit her nose.
Sarah, the line cook, glanced over with wide eyes.
“Nelia, what happened out there?”
Nelia didn’t answer because she couldn’t breathe.
She gripped the stainless steel prep table with both hands, trying to anchor her trembling knees.
Behind her, the heavy swinging doors burst open against the wall with a thunderous bang.
Every chef, prep cook, and dishwasher froze in place.
May you like
Diego Ramos stepped into the kitchen, his tailored jacket open and his jaw set like carved stone.
The entire world stopped spinning, leaving only the sound of her frantic, terrified breathing.
