“The deal is off, Julian,” Sloane said coldly. He turned to his associates. “We’re leaving.”
Julian let out a sound like a wounded animal. His empire, his money, his golden-boy status—all of it was vaporizing before his eyes.
He turned to me, his face contorted with a rage so deep it made him look unrecognizable.
“You bitch,” he whispered.
He snapped his fingers, looking frantically toward the front door. “Security! Get her out of here! She’s trespassing! Throw her out!”
Two burly men in black suits began pushing their way through the murmuring crowd, heading straight for me.
My heart hammered in my throat, but I stood my ground.
I wasn’t going to run.
But as the security guards reached the edge of the dining room floor, a sound echoed from behind me.
The heavy *bang* of the double kitchen doors being kicked open.
### Chapter 5: The Heir Apparent
I didn’t look back, but I felt the shift in the air.
Heavy, grease-stained boots stomped against the hardwood floor.
It was Mateo. And behind him, Luis, Hector, Sarah, and the rest of the kitchen crew. Six line cooks, two dishwashers, and three prep hands. They marched out of the kitchen, their aprons stained with tomato sauce and soot, holding meat forks, heavy ladles, and cast-iron skillets.
They didn’t say a word.
They simply walked up and formed a human wall behind me, staring down the two security guards.
The guards stopped in their tracks. They looked at Julian, then at the wall of angry, knife-wielding cooks, and made the universal silent decision that they weren’t paid enough for a brawl. They backed away.
Julian looked around wildly.
The OmniCorp executives were walking out the door.
Marcus Thorne was jotting down notes in a small black book, a vicious smile on his face.
The wealthy patrons were whispering, pointing, and recording the entire debacle on their phones.
Julian had nothing left. The illusion was shattered.
He looked at our mother. “Mom… do something! Tell them!”
Elenora stood frozen. She looked at Julian, seeing him perhaps for the first time without the golden filter she had placed over him since birth. She saw the cowardice. The fraud.
Then she looked at me.
She saw the scars on my arms. She saw the fierce loyalty of the crew standing behind me. She saw Vincenzo’s fire in my eyes.
“Clara…” she whispered, her voice trembling, reaching a hand out toward me. “Clara, I… I didn’t know he was selling it.”
Three words.
Small. Convenient. Pathetic.
“Yes, you did,” I said softly, though the words carried. “You just didn’t care, as long as he was the one cashing the check.”
Her hand fell to her side. The tears finally spilled over, but I felt no urge to comfort her. I had spent my entire life shrinking myself to make room for her ego and her son’s vanity. I was done making myself small.
I turned to Mateo and the crew.
“Pack your knives,” I said.
Mateo nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Yes, Chef.”
They turned as one and marched back into the kitchen.
I looked at Julian one last time. He was slumped against the mahogany bar, staring at the torn contract on the floor.
