Page 4 of Empire of Temptation

I folded my arms over my chest. “What are you talking about?”

“The name of your restaurant is incorrect.”

“Look—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the table waiting on their chicken parm standing up to leave, their expressions both angry and annoyed. Shitballs.

I hurried over to see if I couldn’t get them to stay. “Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Taylor. Please, don’t go. Let me go see what’s holding up your food.”

“Oh, Val.” Mrs. Taylor grimaced and exchanged a look with her husband. “Sweetie, we really can’t wait any longer. Mr. Taylor has low blood sugar and if he doesn’t eat . . .”

I held up my hands, pleading with them. “I know you’ve been waiting on your food for a long time. I’m so sorry. What if I bring you something to tide you over?”

“We have to go,” Mr. Taylor said. “There’s a game on tonight.”

“Well, let me send you home with some food. Salad or a dessert, maybe.”

The older couple started edging away from me, heading toward the door. “That’s alright, honey,” Mrs. Taylor said. “We’ve got some leftover chicken tetrazzini in the fridge.”

Damn it, this was a disaster. I followed them. “Fair enough. But the next time you visit, your dinner’s on me.”

“Sure, Val,” Mrs. Taylor said, but it didn’t sound genuine. Were they placating me to get out of here?

I waved good-bye and let them go, my shoulders slumping in defeat. Forgetting about Table Seven for the moment, I marched toward the kitchen, angry beyond words.

This is your responsibility. You’re in charge. And you’re failing. Get it together, Val.

Chaos met me when I pushed inside. Anne Marie and Tony were screaming at each other. Bits of the conversation started to take shape in my brain.

“—make the food as the tickets come in, bitch,” Tony snapped. “I’m not playing favorites.”

“Bullshit,” Anne Marie yelled. “You’re putting her tickets first because you’re fucking her—even when it costs me customers.”

Wait, were they talking about Tony and Christina? And they were . . . ? Oh god, the mayor was going to kill me.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Tony said. “No wonder your husband left you.”

I legit gasped as Anne Marie snarled, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Tony didn’t back down in the least. “You heard me.”

Anne Marie grabbed a plate and hurled it at Tony’s head. “You asshole!” Tony ducked and the plate hit the back wall, shattering.

I shouted, “Wait a minute! Both of you!”

“See?” Tony gestured to the broken plate. “Fucking crazy!”

Anne Marie went for another plate—but a pair of suit-clad arms suddenly wrapped around her, holding her still.

My heart dropped. It was Table Seven. And he looked pissed, hisdark eyebrows pulled low, his jaw taut as he kept hold of Anne Marie.

“Let me go!” She twisted, trying to break free.

“Basta, signora,” he said in a commanding tone that no one—man, woman or child—would argue with.

Silence descended.

I didn’t know what to say. Horror and embarrassment had taken hold of my tongue. One of my customers had broken up a fight in my kitchen. Could things get any worse?

“I am going to release you,” Table Seven said to Anne Marie. “No more throwing of plates, per favore.”

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