Chapter 4 The Deal

Francesca's hands trembled as she tried to arrange the ingredients on the counter. The kitchen buzzed with activity, yet her focus splintered every time she glanced up. Luca stood by the pass, watching her, his piercing gaze pulling at her like a magnet. "Francesca," his voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. "Garnish for table six. Now." She blinked, snapping out of her fog. Her heart was racing. "Of course," she muttered, trying to steady herself. As she reached for the herbs, Luca moved closer, closing the space between them.

His scent-a mix of cologne and something darker-invaded her senses, tightening her chest. His eyes burned into her neck, the heat of his gaze making her skin prickle. She struggled to focus. The knife in her hand slipped. Crack. The blade hit the cutting board with a sharp sound, sending a piece of parsley flying. It landed on the floor in a scatter of green leaves. Luca's gaze sharpened. "You're losing focus," he murmured, his voice low, almost predatory. Francesca's breath became trapped in her throat. She met his eyes for a brief moment, then quickly looked down at the mess she'd made. "Sorry," she muttered, cheeks burning. But Luca didn't step back. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You'll have to do better than that." Her stomach flipped. The tension between them was suffocating, and she could feel it tightening with every passing second. He said, "Pick it up," his voice piercing the dense silence like a knife. Francesca knelt to gather the scattered herbs, her fingers trembling. As she rose, she could still feel Luca's gaze on her, heavy and controlling. This wasn't about cooking. This was about control. And Luca had all of it. Later, the kitchen had quieted. The noise of the bustling restaurant faded, replaced by the rhythmic sound of cleaning. Francesca stood by the sink, scrubbing a pot with more force than necessary. She was still rattled from earlier-the way Luca's presence had unsettled her. A shadow fell across the sink. She turned to find Luca standing just behind her. He wasn't close enough to touch her, but it felt as though he was. "How's the food?" His voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was an edge to it that made her uneasy. She dried her hands on a towel, trying to steady her pulse. "It's fine," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Everything's running smoothly." "Good." Luca leaned against the counter, dark eyes never leaving hers. "Tell me, Francesca, what do you see yourself doing in the future?" She blinked, thrown off guard. "What do you mean?" Luca straightened, his expression unreadable. "I need someone... someone strong for what's to come." His words were vague, but the weight behind them was unmistakable. Francesca frowned, a knot forming in her stomach. "What's to come?" He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his gaze intense, measuring. "You'll find out soon enough. But I need you to be ready. I see the potential in you, Francesca. You're more than just a chef." Her pulse quickened. Confusion and curiosity tangled inside her. Was he talking about the job? Could he be discussing something else? "I'm not sure what you mean," she said carefully, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. Luca smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. "Don't worry. You'll understand soon enough." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Francesca standing alone, her mind racing. What had he meant? What did Luca really want from her? The rest of the day dragged on, hours bleeding into one another in a blur of prep work and kitchen chaos. But as the shift neared its end, the air seemed to shift. Luca entered the kitchen, his movements smooth and predatory. "Francesca," he said, his voice low, "you've done well today." She looked up, her heart racing despite herself. "Thank you." His eyes lingered on her a beat longer than necessary. "I think you've earned a reward." Francesca raised an eyebrow. "A reward?" Luca's smile was dangerous, his eyes dark with intent. "Dinner. With me." The words lingered in the air, akin to a challenge. Her ribs clenched, a tremor rolling through her chest. Should she go? Should she say no? But the idea of being alone with him, outside the restaurant, sent a thrill through her. Terrifying. Irresistible. "I don't know..." she started, but Luca's gaze was unwavering. "You've had a long day. You deserve it," he said, his voice soft, wrapping around her like a spell. Francesca's stomach fluttered. The tension between them was unbearable, pulling her closer with each passing second. "I think you should come," Luca added, his voice dropping an octave. "You'll stop fighting it. Everyone does." Her breath stopped. She couldn't deny the pull. But what did it mean? Was she ready for whatever this invitation meant? Francesca stood in the small foyer, her mind a whirlwind. Luca's words-dinner, alone, with him-echoed in her mind. She had no idea what to expect, but one thing was clear: there would be no turning back. Her heart raced as she weighed the consequences. Saying no could cause tension. It could make things worse. But saying yes? What did that mean? She ran her fingers over her neck, the heat of Luca's gaze still burning her skin. "I don't know..." she murmured, more to herself than anyone. But then, she remembered the way he looked at her, the way his presence seemed to dominate the room. It was a challenge. It was an invitation she couldn't resist. She took a deep breath and made her decision. "Fine," she said, the word slipping out before she could stop it. "I'll come." The moment the words left her mouth, an icy sense of unease washed over her. What had she just agreed to? There was no turning back now. Luca's eyes flickered with approval. "You won't regret it," he said, his voice low and certain. Francesca swallowed, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Fine. I'll come." Luca smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good," he said, stepping closer. "Because dinner is just the beginning."