Chapter 4 - Tribute and Television

Vincenzo "The Viper" Russo stood outside Marchetti's Table at dusk, flanked by six men in sharp black suits. A polished briefcase swung from his hand—$500,000 in cash, tribute to appease the Grim Reaper."Remember," Vincenzo hissed, "bow low. Speak soft. He kills with words."The door chimed. Leo looked up from portioning risotto, knife pausing mid-slice."Evening," Leo said calmly. "Kitchen closes at 9. Dine-in or takeout?"Vincenzo thrust the briefcase forward, bowing deeply. "Don Marchetti. The Viper offers respect. For... protection."Leo eyed the case, confused. "Protection? Health inspector was last week. All clear."Vincenzo blinked. Health inspector? His men gripped hidden pistols tighter."The cash," Vincenzo pressed, voice trembling. "For your... operations."Leo sighed, wiping his hands. "Look, if you're short on rent, I know a good landlord. But no loans here—kitchen policy."He pushed the briefcase back. Vincenzo paled. Rejection. Death sentence."Understood, Don," he stammered, backing away. "We'll... improve the offering."As they fled, Elena leaned out from the kitchen, smirking. "Told you the cash clashes with the decor."Leo shrugged. "People these days. Always pushing strange gifts."That same night — "Taste of the City" live cooking showStudio lights blazed. Leo stood at his demo station, surrounded by adoring fans and cameras. Host Carla Vance beamed."Our guest tonight: Leonard Marchetti, culinary genius behind Marchetti's Table! Leo, rumors swirl—you're more than just a chef?"Leo stirred his carbonara, unfazed. "Just sauce and pasta. Timing's everything."The audience laughed nervously. Cut to control room: producers whispering."17 million viewers. And that timing comment after Viper's humiliation?"Back onstage, Carla leaned in. "Leo, what's your secret ingredient?"He held up pancetta. "Patience. Rush it, and everything falls apart."Audience: wild applause. Twitter exploded: "Grim Reaper threatens rivals on LIVE TV!"In a dark bar, Detective Hale watched, jaw tight. "Patience. He's taunting us."Marco burst into frame off-camera, frantic. "Boss! Viper's men followed me here!"Leo nodded calmly. "Tell them green room has snacks. And sign the guestbook."As Marco dashed off, Carla gasped dramatically. "Trouble in paradise?"Leo flipped his pasta. "Just a busy night. Try the sauce—needs salt?"The live feed cut to commercial amid gasps. Ratings soared to 25 million.Back home, 11 PMSophie scrolled her phone at the kitchen table. "Dad, you're trending. #GrimReaperChef. They think you threatened a crime lord on TV."Leo poured milk. "Ridiculous. Pass the cookies."Elena chuckled from the doorway. "Viper left a horse head in the alley."Leo frowned. "Waste of good prosciutto. Wrap it for tomorrow's special."Outside, news helicopters buzzed. Vincenzo called his boss: "Reaper rejected tribute. Sentenced us. We're dead men."Across town, Hale slammed his desk. "He's playing us all."And Leonard Marchetti dreamed of perfect béchamel, the city unraveling around his perfect calm.