Chapter 3 - Behind Closed Doors
The kitchen of Lombardi’s Prime was a high-stress, high-pressure domain ruled with an iron fist by Head Chef Marco Viti. Marco was a culinary perfectionist with a fiery temper and a deep-seated hatred for Vincent Calabresi’s penny-pinching, unethical restaurant management tactics. But Marco had a family to feed and a mortgage to pay, so he swallowed his pride every night and cooked whatever Vincent demanded.
Sonia pushed through the swinging stainless-steel doors, holding Dante’s order ticket, and walked straight up to the expediting station.
“Table twelve,” Sonia said, handing the ticket to Marco. “One dry-aged ribeye, medium-rare, truffle butter, garlic mash, and a glass of the 2010 Cab.”
Marco took the ticket, glanced at it, and let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his sweat-soaked gray hair. He turned toward the walk-in refrigerator, reached for the handle, and pulled it open to retrieve a fresh, vacuum-sealed cut of premium beef from the prime rack.
Before Marco could pull the tray out, a heavy hand slammed against the stainless-steel refrigerator door, slamming it shut with a loud clang.
Marco whipped around, glaring. Vincent stood there, a cold, mocking smirk plastered across his face.
“Not that meat, Marco,” Vincent said softly, stepping into the chef’s personal space.
Marco frowned, crossing his arms over his white chef’s jacket. “What are you talking about? The ticket calls for a dry-aged ribeye. Table twelve paid a three-hundred-dollar deposit in cash. We serve prime meat to paying customers, Vincent. That’s how a restaurant works.”
Vincent chuckled, shaking his head. “A paying customer? That dirty vagrant in the corner is a beggar who probably stole that cash from a subway kiosk. We aren't wasting a prime eighty-dollar cut of beef on a stray dog.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Then throw him out! Call the police! Don't take his money if you aren't going to give him what he ordered!”
“No, no,” Vincent smiled wickedly, stepping past Marco and pulling open the large stainless-steel waste disposal bin beneath the prep counter. He reached down into the bin, pushing past crushed vegetable trimmings, greasy paper towels, and old scraps of bone.
Marco stared at him in absolute disbelief. “Vincent... what the hell are you doing?”
Vincent pulled his hand out of the garbage bin. Clutched in his fingers was a thick, raw end-cut of ribeye that Marco had trimmed off an old roast two days ago—meat that had been sitting in the warm grease-trap of the counter, turning gray at the edges, smelling faintly of sour fat and spoilage. It was meat destined for the dumpster behind the alley.
Vincent held the spoiled, contaminated scrap of beef up in the air like a grotesque trophy.
“Burn the outside,” Vincent instructed smoothly, his voice chillingly casual. “Cover the smell with heavy truffle butter and charred rosemary. By the time he drowns it in A.1. sauce and wolfs it down like an animal, he won't even know the difference.”
Marco stared at him in sheer horror, his face turning pale. “Are you out of your mind?! That meat is rancid! It’s crawling with bacteria! If he eats that, it could put him in the hospital with severe food poisoning! He could die, Vincent!”
Vincent didn't flinch. He tossed the garbage-soaked piece of meat onto a clean cutting board with a wet, sickening thud.
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“Then maybe he’ll learn where he belongs,” Vincent said coldly, turning his back on Marco. “Cook it, or you’re fired tonight. Your choice, chef.”
Marco stood frozen, breathing heavily, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He looked at the spoiled meat, then at the kitchen door where Sonia stood watching the entire exchange with horror paralyzing her vocal cords.
