LEX'S POV
The silence after her words was the loudest sound Lex had ever heard. Her heart pounded in her ears, a frantic drum against the quiet. The hot butter and steak sauce burned through her shirt, stinging her skin. But she didn't move. She kept her eyes locked on Vittorio Scardoni.
His face showed nothing. No anger. No surprise. He just stared back, his dark eyes digging into hers. The young soldier who tripped her shifted in his seat, his face pale. He looked from Lex to his boss, waiting for the command.
Lex was sure it would be a nod. A single nod, and one of these men would break her neck. She had disrespected the boss in front of everyone. This was how it ended.
But Vito didn't nod.
He slowly leaned back in his chair. He picked up his napkin and dabbed the corner of his mouth. The simple act was more terrifying than a shout.
"Gino," Vito said, his voice quiet.
The young soldier flinched. "Yes, Boss?"
"You made a mess," Vito said, not looking at him. He was still looking at Lex.
"She was in the way, I."
"You made a mess," Vito repeated, his voice colder. "You will clean it up. You will apologize to the lady. And you will not eat tonight. Your share of dinner will go to her. As a tip."
The men at the table looked stunned. Gino's mouth hung open.
Lex's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't what she expected.
"But Boss," Gino started.
Vito's eyes finally flicked to the young man. That was all it took. Gino's protest died in his throat. He swallowed hard, pushed his chair back, and stood up. He wouldn't look at Lex.
"I… apologize," he muttered to the floor.
"The mop is in the kitchen," Lex said, her voice surprisingly steady. She wasn't going to make it easy for him.
Gino's jaw tightened, but he shuffled past her to get the mop.
Vito turned his attention back to Lex. "Your shirt is ruined. Go change. Then bring us the dessert menu."
It wasn't a request. It was an order, but a different kind. He had just taken her side. Sort of. He had controlled his dog, just like she'd told him to. The power in the room had shifted, just a little.
Lex gave one short nod. She turned and walked to the small back office, where she kept an extra t-shirt. Her legs felt like jelly. As soon as the office door closed behind her, she slumped against it, shaking. The adrenaline was crashing. Her chest was red and burning. She quickly peeled off the dirty, wet shirt and pulled on the clean one, a faded gray Romano's t-shirt.
She could hear Gino clanking around out there, mopping angrily. She took three deep breaths, trying to calm down. He didn't kill you, she told herself. He punished his own man. Why?
When she walked back out, the floor was clean. Gino was sitting stiffly in a chair by the door, staring at the wall, his plate empty. The other men were eating quietly, not talking. Vito was sipping his wine.
She brought the dessert menus. As she handed one to Vito, he spoke softly, so only she could hear.
"That was either the bravest thing I've ever seen," he murmured, "or the stupidest. Don't make me choose which one."
Then, he went back to reading the menu as if nothing had happened.
Lex served dessert: tiramisu and cannoli. The meal finished in silence. When the last plate was cleared, Vito stood up. His men stood with him.
He walked to the counter where Lex stood. He pulled a thick, black wallet from his jacket. He counted out ten one-hundred-dollar bills and placed them on the counter.
"For the food," he said. Then, he counted out ten more. "For the shirt. And the lesson."
Lex looked at the money. Two thousand dollars. It was more than the restaurant made in a good week. "The lesson?" she asked.
"For my man," Vito said. He looked over at Gino, who was still fuming by the door. "Respect isn't given. It's taken. You took it tonight. He won't forget it."
He turned to leave, then paused. "We will be back tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Make the veal."
And just like that, they were gone. The door shut, leaving Lex alone in the sudden, heavy quiet. The only evidence they were there was the faint smell of cigars, a perfectly clean floor, and two stacks of cash on her counter.
She didn't touch the money right away. She walked to Table Four, her brother's table, and sat down. Her whole body was tired.
He was nothing as she imagined. He wasn't a yelling monster. He was quiet, calm, and absolutely in control. He had punished his man to teach him a lesson, and he had paid her to teach her one, too. He was showing her the rules of his world.
The bell on the door jingled. Lex jumped, thinking they'd come back.
But it was only old Mr. Petrov from the dry cleaner next door. He poked his head in, his eyes wide.
"Everything okay, Lexi?" he asked, his voice hushed. "I saw the black cars. That was Vittorio Scardoni. Bad people."
"I know," Lex said, her voice hollow.
"You be careful," Mr. Petrov said, shaking his head. "Men like that… they don't just come for dinner." He left, the bell jingling again.
Lex knew he was right. This wasn't about veal. This was about control. She had stood up to him, and he had let her. That worried her more than if he had slapped her.
Why did a man who could have anyone killed let a waitress talk to him like that?
She cleaned up, her mind racing. She locked the front door and started turning off the lights. As she passed the front window, she saw it.
A single, black car was still parked across the street.
Not the whole line. Just one. And the engine was off.
Someone was inside, watching. Waiting.
A guard. He wasn't there to protect her. He was there to make sure she didn't run. To remind her that her thirty days had started, and she was now on their clock.
Lex turned off the last light and stood in the dark dining room. The glow from the streetlight outside shone on the cash still sitting on the counter. Blood money. Tip money. Prisoner money.
She walked over, picked up the two thousand dollars, and stuffed it into the old cash register. It felt dirty.
She went out the back door, locking it tight. As she walked down the alley toward her apartment, she could feel the eyes from the black car following her in the dark. She didn't look back.
When she got to her tiny apartment, she locked the door and put a chair under the knob. She leaned against the door, finally alone.
The quiet was worse. Because in the quiet, she could hear his voice.
"Don't make me choose if you're brave or stupid."
And she could see his dark, curious eyes, watching her, even now.
The next night, at exactly seven, the door opened. But it wasn't Vito and his crew. It was two men she'd never seen before. They were rougher, meaner-looking. They walked right up to her. One of them smiled, showing a gold tooth. "Mr. Scardoni sent us. He wants you to come with us. Now." He held out a black blindfold. "Don't worry," Gold-Tooth said. "It's just a talk." But the way he said it made her blood freeze. This wasn't about dinner. This was something else.