Chapter 2 - The Quiet World
The heavy mahogany doors of the private dining room swung shut, cutting off Brett’s panicked protests. The deadbolt clicked with a sharp, final sound.
Inside the room, the terrifying tension that had gripped my chest slowly uncoiled. I stood frozen by the table, holding my serving tray like a shield. Salvatore Marquetti didn't even look at the locked doors. His dark, piercing eyes remained fixed entirely on me.
He gestured to the empty chair across from him at the table.
"Sit," he signed. His movements were precise, elegant, and filled with unquestionable authority.
I hesitated, my mind screaming that I was breaking every rule in the employee handbook. But when the most dangerous man in Chicago asks you to sit, you don't check with management. I carefully set my tray down and took the seat opposite him.
"You are shaking," Salvatore noted, his hands moving smoothly.
"You have a terrifying reputation," I signed back, my fingers trembling slightly. "People say you ignore everyone just to make them feel small."
A dark, bitter amusement flickered in his eyes.
"People say many things," he replied. "Most of them are fools. I lost my hearing in a car bombing when I was nineteen. I do not ignore people, Tessa. I simply refuse to read the lips of liars, and I refuse to rely on interpreters who are too terrified to tell me the truth. So, I let the world think I am a monster who enjoys the silence."
My heart broke perfectly in two. I looked at this broad-shouldered, lethal man, and for a split second, I didn't see a mafia boss. I saw my little brother—isolated, frustrated, and tired of living in a world that refused to meet him halfway.
"You aren't a monster," I signed, looking directly into his eyes. "You just needed someone willing to learn your language."
Salvatore went entirely still. The breath seemed to leave his lungs. He stared at me with a sudden, overwhelming intensity that made the air in the room feel thick and electric. For the next hour, we didn't discuss the criminal underworld. We talked about my brother. We talked about his favorite books. We shared a silence that felt louder and more intimate than any conversation I had ever had.
When he finally stood to leave, he didn't hand me a credit card. He placed a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills on the table.
"Buy your brother whatever he wants," Salvatore signed. "And buy yourself a coat that actually keeps the Chicago winter out."
Before I could thank him, he was gone.
The moment the front doors of the restaurant closed behind him, Brett stormed into the private dining room, his face purple with rage.
"What the hell did you do in here?!" Brett screamed, grabbing my arm so hard his fingers dug into my skin. "His bodyguards threw three of my best servers into the alley! You're fired, Tessa! Turn in your apron. You're done."
I didn't cry. I pulled my arm out of his grasp, took off my apron, and walked out the back door into the freezing, rain-slicked alley. I was broke, exhausted, and unemployed.
May you like
But as I stepped onto the pavement, a sleek, armored black SUV pulled up directly in front of me.
The back door opened.
