Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Backstage
The industrial kitchen of La Tavola d’Oro was normally a symphony of clattering pans, shouting chefs, and the sizzle of butter and garlic. Tonight, it was a tomb.
The cooks had already fled through the delivery bay, leaving behind half-chopped onions and pots of cooling stock. Bruno hauled Celeste along by her emerald dress like a sack of grain, her high heels clicking uselessly against the stainless-steel floor as she sobbed curses under her breath. Behind them, Lorenzo walked with measured, predatory strides, his eyes never leaving the back of Evelyn’s head as she guided them toward the rear exit.
"Left," Evelyn instructed, her voice steady despite the adrenaline hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "The alley leads to the old railway spur. The police won't clear that side for another ten minutes."
Lorenzo didn't answer with words. He simply gestured for Bruno to push open the heavy metal door.
The freezing Chicago wind bit into the alley, carrying the bitter scent of melting snow and industrial exhaust. Sirens wailed in the distance, multiplying by the second as squad cars converged on the front of the restaurant.
"Into the car," Lorenzo ordered, pointing toward a black, bullet-resistant Lincoln Navigator idling against the brick wall with its engine softly purring.
Bruno shoved Celeste into the back seat, slamming the heavy door shut behind her. As Lorenzo reached for the passenger handle, he paused, turning his gaze back to Evelyn, who was standing frozen by the door frame, her apron fluttering in the wind.
"You saved my life tonight, sweetheart," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. "People who save my life don't go back to waiting tables for minimum wage. Get in."
"I'm not your employee anymore, Mr. Moretti," Evelyn replied, crossing her arms against the cold. "And I'm certainly not your pet."
A flicker of genuine amusement crossed Lorenzo's dark eyes. "Smart. I like that. But standing out here in a snowstorm while my enemies look for loose ends is a great way to get yourself killed. Get in the car, Evelyn. We have a lot to discuss."
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Realizing she had very few alternatives—and that her face was already plastered across Celeste's co-conspirator's burner phone—Evelyn pulled off her stained apron, dropped it onto the filthy pavement, and climbed into the back seat beside a hyperventilating Celeste.
The door slammed shut, sealing them inside a leather-lined sanctuary of absolute silence as the Navigator tore away from the curb into the dark labyrinth of the city.
