Chapter 3 - HOT FOOD AND COLD DREAD
Emily stood frozen for three long seconds. She looked at the plush leather chair, then down at her slush-covered shoes, terrified that stepping onto the immaculate Persian rug would provoke the large men standing in the shadows.
"I said sit, Emily," Dominic repeated, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument. "You're getting snow on my floor."
She moved quickly then, scurrying across the floor and climbing up onto the oversized chair. She sat on the very edge, her small frame swallowed by the dark leather, keeping baby Noah clutched against her collarbone.
Dominic raised his left hand toward the far corner of the mezzanine.
Rachel, the senior VIP waitress—an elegant woman in her late twenties wearing a crisp black vest and white button-down shirt—stepped forward instantly. She had been observing from the service station, her face pale, completely uncertain of how Dominic would handle the intrusion.
"Sir?" Rachel asked, keeping her voice low and impeccably professional.
"Hot food," Dominic ordered calmly, his dark eyes never leaving Emily’s face. "Bring a bowl of the chicken vegetable soup. Extra bread. Fresh roasted chicken breast, sliced thin. And have the kitchen warm a cup of whole milk. Right now."
Emily’s brown eyes went wide with shock. She leaned forward, her chest heaving as a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion hit her.
"Sir... please," Emily stammered, her voice cracking as a single hot tear cut a clean track through the smudge of dirt on her cheek. "We... we only wanted the leftovers. We can wait by the back door—"
"I don't serve leftovers at my table," Dominic interrupted smoothly. "And you aren't standing by any back doors tonight."
Within ninety seconds, Rachel returned carrying a heavy silver tray. She placed a steaming porcelain bowl of clear chicken broth loaded with tender vegetables, a basket of warm, crusty sourdough bread, and a small jug of warm milk beside Emily’s elbow.
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Emily stared at the feast in front of her. The heat rising from the broth hit her face, and her small hands began to shake violently. She picked up a piece of warm bread, dipped it into the soup, and offered a tiny soaked corner to baby Noah, who sucked on it greedily with quiet, desperate whimpers.
Dominic sat back in his bench, watching the two children in complete, unreadable silence.
