Chapter 2 - The Standoff at La Rosa
The flashback shattered like glass as the reality of La Rosa slammed back into Khloe’s senses.
The present was loud, terrifying, and dripping with high-stakes drama. The upscale Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side had been entirely compromised. Thirty of Damiano’s men stood like sentinels, blocking every exit, their dark overcoats damp from the Friday night downpour. Bradley, her date in the navy blazer, looked as though he might physically faint. His hands were raised, his eyes wide with the primal terror of a rabbit looking at a wolf.
“Damiano, please don't,” Khloe whispered again, stepping forward. The small bouquet of tulips Bradley had brought her—ironically bought from a cheap grocery store corner, not her shop—felt heavy and pathetic in her hand.
Damiano walked across the dining room floor. His footsteps were the only sound in the entire establishment. The restaurant owner, a man who usually kicked out anyone violating the dress code, was currently hiding behind the bar, pretending to polish a glass that was already spotless.
Damiano stopped exactly three inches from Bradley. He was a head taller, broader, and radiated an aura of lethal authority that made the younger man shrink.
“Is he the reason you smiled at someone else today?” Damiano asked again, his eyes locked onto Khloe, ignoring Bradley entirely.
“No!” Khloe cried out, her face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. “He’s not! I smiled because I was being polite, Damiano! It was a blind date. We’ve been here for twenty minutes, and he’s spent fifteen of them talking about his father’s hedge fund!”
Bradley let out a small, pathetic squeak but didn't correct her.
Damiano slowly turned his gaze down to the grocery-store tulips in Bradley’s hand. He reached out, his long fingers wrapping around the plastic-wrapped stems, and pulled them from Bradley’s grip with agonizing slowness.
“You brought her these?” Damiano asked, his voice dangerously low. “Refrigerated, mass-produced weeds with chemical dyes. You walked past three premium florists to save twelve dollars on a woman who deserves orchids flown in from the valleys of Thailand.”
“I—I didn't know,” Bradley stammered, his voice cracking. “I just... I can leave. I’ll leave right now.”
“You will,” Damiano agreed. He tossed the tulips onto an empty table as if they were toxic waste. He looked at one of his men by the door. “Pierce. Ensure Mr. Bradley finds his way home safely. And ensure he understands that the Upper East Side is no longer a suitable location for his evening walks.”
“Yes, Boss,” Pierce replied, stepping forward and grabbing Bradley by the elbow. Bradley didn't protest; he practically ran out of the restaurant, the heavy glass doors swinging shut behind him.
The restaurant remained dead silent. Damiano turned back to Khloe. The coldness in his eyes didn't soften, but the terrifying edge shifted away from her. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and dropped them onto the nearest table.
“For the inconvenience,” Damiano announced to the room at large. “Everyone’s dinner is covered. Leave.”
Within sixty seconds, the restaurant was empty of civilian patrons. Only Khloe, Damiano, and his wall of bodyguards remained.
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“You are insane,” Khloe said, her voice trembling as she dropped into the nearest chair. “You completely lost your mind. You can’t just hijack a restaurant because I went to dinner with a guy!”
“I can,” Damiano said, pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down. He adjusted his cuffs with terrifying calmness. “And I did. Because three hours ago, my intelligence team intercepted a wiretap from the Lucchesi family. They know about Parker Blooms, Khloe. And they know you are the only reason I haven't leveled their entire operation on the West Side.”
