The Last Ten Days, The Apocalypse Countdown

The slap

Chapter 7

Gina Caputo stood in the middle of Bella Mare with her chest heaving and her finger pointed at Nick like a weapon, fully expecting her boyfriend to march over and destroy this nobody who had dared to embarrass her.

"Baby!" She spun toward the young man rushing from the bar. "This disgusting cockroach and his little girlfriend just humiliated me in front of everyone! They stole our crab pot and he talked to me like I was trash! I want you to"

She stopped.

Anthony DeLuca's face was not angry. It was terrified. His skin had gone from tanned to the color of wet paper in about three seconds, and his eyes were locked on Nick with a look of pure, undiluted horror.

"Tony?" Gina's voice dropped. "What's wrong with you? Why are you looking at him like that?"

Anthony grabbed her arm so hard she yelped. He yanked her close and whispered through clenched teeth, his voice shaking. "Do you have any idea who that man is?"

"Who cares who he is? He's nobody! Look at him, he's dressed like a"

"That man placed a seven hundred million dollar order with my father's company this afternoon." Anthony's whisper was so sharp it cut through the restaurant noise like a blade. "Seven. Hundred. Million. He's the biggest single client DeLuca Fresh Meats has ever had in its entire history. And you just stood here calling him a cockroach and a street rat in front of a hundred people."

Every drop of color drained from Gina's face.

"What?" Her voice came out small and cracked. "No. That's not... he can't be. Look at what he's wearing. He's just some"

The slap came so fast that Gina didn't even see Anthony's hand move.

The sound cracked through the restaurant like a gunshot. Gina's head snapped to the side and she stumbled back two full steps, her hand flying to her cheek. The entire restaurant went dead silent. Not a fork moved. Not a glass clinked. Even the kitchen noise seemed to stop.

"You stupid, brainless cow." Anthony's voice was low but every person within twenty feet could hear it. His face was twisted with a fury that had nothing to do with defending Gina and everything to do with protecting his family's business. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You almost destroyed a seven hundred million dollar deal because you wanted a pot of crab. A pot of crab!"

"Tony, please, I didn't know." Tears were already pouring down Gina's face, smearing her thick mascara into black streaks. "I swear I didn't know who he was."

"That's the problem with you." Anthony grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, his teeth bared. "You never know anything. You walk around with your nose in the air like you're some kind of queen when you're nothing but a loudmouth with a borrowed credit card. You're like a parrot that learned three words and thinks it can run the jungle."

"I'm sorry," Gina sobbed, her voice breaking apart. "I'm so sorry, Tony, please don't"

"Shut your mouth." Anthony pointed at Nick and Isabella's table without taking his eyes off Gina. "You're going to walk over there. You're going to get on your knees. And you're going to beg Mr. Marchetti and his guest for forgiveness. And if you don't, I swear on my father's name, I will send you straight to the Riviera Rendezvous as a plaything for whatever old money freak wants to bid on you first. Do you understand me?"

Gina's entire body was trembling. Her legs gave out beneath her and she sank to the floor right there in the middle of the restaurant, mascara running, lipstick smeared, her tight pink dress riding up as she crawled forward on her knees toward Nick and Isabella's table.

Every pair of eyes in Bella Mare followed her.

"Mr. Marchetti," Gina's voice was barely above a whisper, her forehead nearly touching the floor. "Please forgive me. I was wrong. I was so wrong. I'm an idiot and I had no right to speak to you that way. Please, please forgive me. I'll do anything."

She turned her ruined face toward Isabella. "Miss, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I said. Please. I'm begging you."

Isabella's expression softened. She had never been the type to hold grudges, and watching a grown woman sob on a restaurant floor made her stomach turn regardless of what had been said minutes ago.

"It's okay," Isabella said gently. "Just please get up. It's fine."

Nick said nothing. He just watched, his expression unreadable.

Anthony grabbed Gina by the arm and hauled her to her feet. "Get out. Now. Go sit in the car and don't say a single word to anyone on the way out. If I hear even one sound from you, we're done."

Gina stumbled toward the exit with her head down, one hand still pressed against her swollen cheek, her sobs echoing through the silent restaurant until the front door closed behind her.

The moment she was gone, the noise slowly returned. Forks started moving again. Whispered conversations picked back up. A waiter discreetly swept up the cash Gina had thrown on the table earlier.

Anthony straightened his blazer, took a deep breath, and walked to Nick's table with his hands clasped in front of him like a man approaching a judge.

"Mr. Marchetti, I owe you a sincere apology." His voice was steady now, respectful, almost formal. "My name is Anthony DeLuca. My father is General Manager DeLuca of DeLuca Fresh Meats. What just happened was completely unacceptable, and I take full responsibility."

Nick studied the young man for a moment. He looked genuinely shaken, not performing shame but actually feeling it. That counted for something.

"Sit down, Anthony." Nick gestured to the empty chair.

Anthony hesitated, then sat.

"Your girlfriend has a mouth on her," Nick said simply.

"She won't be my girlfriend much longer." Anthony ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. Please let me cover your bill tonight. It's the least I can do."

Nick waved a hand. "Don't worry about the bill. But I am curious about something."

"Anything."

Nick leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice low. "You mentioned something back there. The Riviera Rendezvous. And you called her a plaything. What exactly goes on at this thing?"

Anthony's eyes flickered. He glanced around the restaurant, checking the nearby tables, then leaned in close.

"It's not something I can explain in a place like this." His voice dropped to barely a murmur. "Too many ears. Let me text you the details later tonight. Trust me, it's better that way."

Nick nodded slowly. "Fair enough. I'll hold you to that."

Anthony stood, shook Nick's hand firmly, and excused himself. He left through the front door, presumably to deal with the mess waiting for him in his car.

The table was quiet for a moment.

"Well," Isabella said, picking up her fork. "That was something."

Nick looked at the crab pot, still steaming, still untouched by the chaos. "You know what? Let's just eat."

And they did. They ate everything. The crab meat pot was every bit as incredible as the first bite had promised, rich and buttery with a sweetness that lingered on the tongue. The grilled sea bass was perfectly flaky. The garlic shrimp melted in their mouths. Even the chowder, which had gone slightly cool during the drama, was thick and creamy and absolutely worth the wait.

"Isabella," Nick set his fork down after the last bite. "This is genuinely the best meal I've had in years. Maybe ever. How did you find this place?"

Isabella beamed, her tired eyes crinkling with pride. "I've been coming here since freshman year. It's a local secret. The chef is some kind of genius. Nobody knows how she does it."

"She?"

"Yeah. The head chef is a woman. Apparently she's won all kinds of awards."

Nick filed that away in his mind. A genius chef in a city that was about to be wiped off the map in nine days. That was exactly the kind of person worth knowing.

Isabella excused herself to use the restroom, and Nick stood up to settle the bill. He walked to the front counter near the entrance, pulling out his wallet as he passed the wall beside the register.

He stopped.

The wall was covered in framed awards, certificates, and newspaper clippings. Bellport City Culinary Excellence Award. Regional Chef of the Year, three years running. And in the center, a large framed certificate with gold lettering: "Top Ten Outstanding Young Women of Bellport City," with the chef's photo and name printed beneath it.

Nick leaned closer. The woman in the photo was young, maybe late twenties, with sharp features, dark eyes, and the kind of quiet confidence that came from being exceptionally good at something and knowing it.

He turned to the register. A young woman sat behind the counter, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, a few strands falling across her face. She wore a simple white chef's jacket with the sleeves rolled up and a thin silver chain around her neck. She was reviewing a stack of receipts, but she looked up when Nick approached with warm, intelligent eyes and a slight smile.

"Just the bill?" Her voice was smooth and unhurried.

"Actually," Nick glanced back at the wall of awards and then at her. "I was hoping I could meet the head chef. Whoever cooked that meal tonight is one of the most talented people I've ever encountered. I'd love to pay my compliments in person."

The young woman set down her pen, folded her hands on the counter, and gave him a smile that was equal parts amused and charming.

"Well, you're looking at her." She extended her hand across the counter. "Maria Esposito. Head chef, owner, and the person who made your crab pot tonight. And you are?"

Nick blinked. Then he smiled back and shook her hand.

"Nicholas Marchetti. And that was, without question, the best meal I've ever had."

Maria's smile widened, warm and genuine, and her dark eyes held his for just a beat longer than necessary.

"Then I guess you'll just have to come back, Mr. Marchetti."