Antoine’s command, echoing my own, broke the spell of paralysis that held the room. The Aria’s staff, models of efficiency, moved as one. A busboy appeared with a large, gleaming silver bowl, which he began to fill with ice from the bar’s service well. Two line cooks, their faces a mixture of terror and awe, swarmed the pass, clearing away the detritus of Julian’s failure with swift, reverent movements. They wiped the stainless steel until it shone under the warm dining room lights, creating a pristine, impromptu stage.
I walked towards it, the hushed whispers of the diners following me like a tide. I felt Julian’s gaze on my back, a toxic mixture of hatred and despair. I felt Chloe’s, sharp and calculating, searching for any sign of weakness. And I felt Sebastian’s, an intense, unreadabl
