Chapter 4 - The Grand Bellevue
The Grand Bellevue Ballroom glistened under three massive crystal chandeliers, filled with the soft rustle of silk gowns, expensive tuxedos, and the high-society chatter of Chicago’s elite.
Behind the heavy double doors of the main kitchen, however, was a war zone.
"More parsley on the sea bass! Table four needs the gluten-free risotto NOW!" June’s voice cut through the heat, steam, and clatter of plates like a whip. She stood at the main pass in a immaculate chef’s coat, checking every single plate before it left the kitchen.
Her diner crew—Donna, Marcus, and young Toby—worked alongside the hotel's silver-service waiters with mechanical precision. June had spent eight hours prepping sauce reductions, braising short ribs, and organizing the plating lines.
By 8:30 PM, the first three courses had been served without a single error.
Cormac Riley walked into the kitchen through the service doors, looking formidable in his tuxedo. He bypassed his own security guards and walked straight to the plating pass where June was wiping the rim of a dessert plate with a damp cloth.
"The Mayor just asked for seconds of the braised short rib," Cormac said softly, stepping close to her side. "He said it's the best meal served in this hotel in ten years."
June didn't look up from her work. "The Mayor eats at my diner every Thursday morning. He gets the meatloaf special. He knows good food when he tastes it."
"You're unflappable, aren't you?" Cormac murmured, a faint smile touching his lips.
"I have twelve tables left for dessert, Mr. Riley. I don't have time to be flapped."
Before Cormac could reply, the kitchen fire doors slammed open.
A tall man with slicked-back black hair, an Italian-cut tuxedo, and a sharp, cruel face walked into the kitchen, flanked by two heavy-set men with unbuttoned jackets revealing silver shoulder holsters.
It was Gianni Moretti—Cormac’s chief rival for control of the riverfront docks.
The kitchen came to a dead halt. Plates stopped clattering. Marcus lowered his carving knife.
"Cormac," Moretti sneered, walking up to the pass with supreme arrogance. "I heard you hired a diner cook to feed the city's highest donors. I had to see the tragedy for myself."
Cormac shifted his stance instantly, stepping subtly in front of June, his hand sliding inside his jacket. "You're in the wrong room, Gianni. Guests stay in the ballroom."
"I wanted to meet the famous widow," Moretti said, his cold eyes sliding over Cormac's shoulder to lock onto June. "The one carrying Raymond Holloway's multi-million-dollar debt."
June stepped out from behind Cormac, leaning her hands flat on the stainless-steel pass. She met Moretti's gaze without an ounce of fear.
"You're blocking my service line, sir," June said, her voice echoing clearly off the tile walls.
Moretti laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. "Listen to the cook. Tell me, Mrs. Holloway... did your dead husband ever tell you who really owned that promissory note? Cormac claims he holds the debt, but Raymond signed that paper in my private office at the docks."
June felt a cold ripple run down her spine, but her face remained marble. "My husband didn't sign that paper, Mr. Moretti. A thieving coward named Darren signed it. And if you took a forged signature from a desperate degenerate, then you're a terrible businessman."
The kitchen went deadly quiet.
Moretti’s laugh cut off instantly. His face darkened into dangerous fury. He took a heavy step toward the pass, reaching out a hand as if to grab June's lapel.
In a flash of lightning motion, Cormac grabbed Moretti’s wrist, twisting it back until the larger man gasped in pain, forcing him down toward his knees.
Cormac leaned over Moretti, his voice dropping into a terrifying whisper that made the entire room shiver. "Touch her again, Gianni, and I will feed you to the industrial shredder at my lumber yard. Get out of this kitchen."
Cormac shoved Moretti backward. Moretti’s two bodyguards reached for their weapons, but six of Cormac’s men stepped out from the shadows of the pantry, weapons drawn and aimed straight at their heads.
Moretti straightened his jacket, glaring at Cormac with pure hatred, then looked at June. "This isn't over, widow. You think Riley is protecting you? He's using you to get to your husband's land on the riverfront."
Moretti turned and stormed out of the kitchen, his guards trailing behind him.
June stood motionless at the pass.
Cormac turned to face her, his expression carefully guarded. "June... let me explain—"
"The land on the riverfront," June whispered, her voice trembling slightly for the first time all night. "The old icehouse property Ray inherited from his father... the one right next to the docks."
Cormac remained silent, his silence confirming her worst fear.
May you like
June looked down at her hands, then back up at the man who had locked her diner door three days ago.
"You didn't come to collect a debt, did you, Mr. Riley?" June said softly. "You came because my property is the only piece of land blocking your expansion to the river."
