Chapter 2 - Echoes in the Alleyway
Midnight brought the damp chill of late autumn into the narrow brick alley behind L’Aube. Maya leaned against the heavy steel exit door, untying her black apron with numb fingers. The adrenaline of the service had worn off, leaving behind an ache in her arches and a hollow feeling in her stomach.
Headlights swept across the damp cobblestones. A black town car idle at the curb killed its high beams, leaving only the amber glow of the parking lamps. The rear door swung open. Julian’s driver remained inside, eyes forward.
Julian stepped out into the mist, a heavy cashmere coat draped over his broad shoulders, his collar turned up against the cold. He held an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
"You didn't run," Julian observed, stopping three paces away.
"Why would I run, Mr. Moretti?" Maya countered, zipping her windbreaker. "I made dinner. You ate it."
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
"I know your name is on the commercial lease of three premier dining rooms in this city, including this one," she answered. "And I know you looked like a starving boy when you tasted that stew."
A harsh, humorless chuckle broke from Julian's throat. "Starving. That's one word for it." He took a silver lighter from his pocket, flicked the flame to the cigarette, and inhaled. "Her name was Elena. Not Ida."
Maya frowned. "She introduced herself as Ida to everyone in the village. She said names were like coats—sometimes you need a dry one when the storm gets bad."
Julian looked up at the foggy night sky, the smoke curling around his scarred jawline. "She ran from my father. She ran from our name. She left me in Rome with a trust fund, a blood-soaked family business, and an empty house when I was twenty-four. I spent five years digging through hospital records, morgues, and ferry manifests. I thought she was dead."
"She wasn't dead," Maya said quietly. "She was just quiet."
Julian took an envelope from his interior pocket and held it toward her. Maya didn't reach for it.
"What is that?"
"Keys," Julian said. "To an empty kitchen on Mercer Street. Closed two years ago after a tax seizure. I bought the building last month. You walk away from L’Aube tonight. You cook for me. You tell me every word she ever said to you."
May you like
Maya shook her head. "I am not a ghost-caller, Mr. Moretti. I am a chef. If you want her back, an empty dining room won't bring her."
Julian’s eyes narrowed, dark and unyielding. "You have until tomorrow noon to change your mind, Chef Vance. Or you will find that every kitchen in this city suddenly lacks an open burner for you."
