Page 86 of The Don’s Omega

A muscle twitches in Marco’s cheek. “I don’t think that’s true. The staff knows I care about them and the establishment.”

“If you say so.” Elio holds Marco’s gaze without flinching.

Marco gives a humorless laugh. “Sir, if you knew how much training and how many hours I’ve put into this place, you might understand why I’m sometimes a tiny bit frustrated with the staff. I’m here before the staff arrives and long after they leave. I pour everything I have into these people.” He sighs as if he donated a kidney. “It’s a thankless job. I wouldn’t expect someone outside the industry to appreciate what it takes.”

“I’ve actually worked in the industry,” Elio says.

“Oh, yes?” Marco’s lukewarm smile doesn’t budge, but his eyes flick down Elio once, dismissively. “Let me guess, you worked in fast food?”

Elio flushes. “No, I worked in fine dining restaurants.”

Marco’s brows rise. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Elio’s chin lifts at Marco’s disbelieving tone.

Marco huffs. “Then you of all people should know it’s a hard business, and a manager who doesn’t hold the line ends up with chaos.”

“There’s holding the line,” Elio says, “and then there’s being rude and disrespectful to your staff.”

A chill flutters through Marco’s eyes. “I’m sure you mean well. But correcting my methods at the table, in front of my staff, that seems rather disrespectful, doesn’t it? You’re undermining me. Perhaps you should simply enjoy your evening as our guest, and let me run my floor the way I know works best.”

I don’t like his tone with Elio, but before I can say anything, Elio speaks up again.

“Your restaurant is half empty on a Friday night,” Elio says. “You have one of the best views in the harbor, so why is that? Seems to me your management skills aren’t as good as you think they are.”

Marco’s mask slips. “With all due respect, kid—”

I set down my wine, bristling.

“No,” I say in a harsh voice, looking straight at Marco. “Don’t you dare talk to my husband in that tone.”

Marco turns to me and the rest of his sentence dies in his throat. Somewhere underneath the bluster a smarter instinct has kicked in.

Elio looks at me too and I feel his surprise.

“You’ve done nothing but talk down to my husband for the last few minutes and that’s going to stop immediately,” I rumble. “I guess you think because you were smiling while you insulted him that made it okay? You’re wrong. Or maybe you’re just stupid. Because only a stupid man would dare talk to Marcello Foschini’s new husband like the hired help. Are you a stupid man, Marco?”

“No, s… sir,” Marco says, his face pale.

“Apologize right now.”

He leans toward me. “Mr. Foschini, I’m sorry—”

“Not to me, you moron,” I growl. “To my husband.”

Marco turns to Elio, clasping his hands. “I’m sorry, sir. I was rude and careless with my words.” The deference to Elio is real now, propped up by fear. “Please forgive me. I was completely out of line.”

“It’s fine,” Elio mumbles. “It’s Sofia you should apologize to.”

Marco’s cheek twitches and his mouth has a stubborn tilt.

“Do it,” I snap. “If that’s what Elio wants, then apologize to Sofia too.”

Cheeks red Marco addresses the wilting girl. “My sincerest apologies, Sofia. I meant no harm.”

Sofia looks ready to topple over. “It’s okay, s… sir.”

“Now go,” I say.