Chapter 8 - The Test of the Fire
Two weeks before the scheduled opening of the restaurant, which Julian had simply named Elena, an electrical fire broke out in the rear storage shed behind the kitchen.
It happened at three in the morning. Maya was awakened by a frantic phone call from Julian. When she arrived by taxi, fire engines were already packing up their hoses, their red lights flashing against the wet brick walls.
The storage unit was completely gutted, charred lumber and blackened metal giving off a bitter stench. But the main kitchen had been spared, protected by the heavy fire door Julian had insisted on reinforcing the previous week.
Julian stood in the soaked alleyway, soot smearing his cheek, his trench coat damp with hose spray. The local fire captain was speaking with him in low tones. When the firemen left, Maya walked up to Julian.
"Marco?" she asked.
Julian looked down at the burned rubble. "A warning. A bottle of kerosene through the shed window. He wanted to see if I'd call my old crew and start a war."
"Will you?" Maya asked, watching his face intently. This was the precipice. If Julian answered violence with violence, the kitchen on Mercer Street would become just another tomb.
Julian looked toward the kitchen door. Through the wire-mesh window, the warm yellow pilot lights of the range flickered steadily in the dark.
"Fourteen years ago, I would have burned Marco’s club to the ground before sunrise," Julian said, his voice strangely calm. "I would have taken three men and made his family weep. And my mother would have died a second time tonight."
He turned to Maya, taking the work gloves from his pocket. "The dry stock in the kitchen is intact. The flour didn't get wet. We have sixteen sacks of San Marzano tomatoes and three crates of winter squash."
May you like
Maya looked at him, surprised. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying the bread doesn't bake itself, Vance," Julian said, a faint, determined light in his eyes. "Let's clean this mess up."
