After I Fall (Immortal Billionaires #1) - Melissa Sercia Page 0,29
let you know I’ve purchased a restaurant of my own. I’ll be staying in New York indefinitely. Hope that’s not going to be a problem?”
Fuck. “Stay as long as you like, Camille. Just keep out of my way and my life. Whether you forgive me for the past or not, we both know I have paid enough for what I did. Open ten restaurants for all I care.”
She batted her eyelashes at me like an innocent little girl, but I knew better. She was far from innocent and she always had an ulterior motive. Her stiletto heels clicked, echoing across my marble floors as she walked toward the door. “Bye for now, Ozi. Oh and you might want to get a better security system. I’m sure I’m not the only other vampire who you’ve crossed in your infinite days. Ciao.”
Her perfume lingered in the air—Chanel No. 5. Some things never changed. She always did have good taste. Expensive taste. I charged toward the kitchen and scrambled open the safe—one of many safes I owned all over the city. I couldn’t get the blood bag opened fast enough. I had gone too long tonight. The chilled blood was refreshing, despite the fact that it tasted nothing like it did when it was fresh from the vein.
I slumped into a chair on the patio and gazed out at the city while I drained three more blood bags. Camille was nothing like she was when we first met. That was my fault probably. But she never loved me. Not before the change and not after. Otherwise she wouldn’t have rejected me when she learned what I was. I don’t think anyone can really love that much anyway. So I couldn’t blame her. I was asking her to love a monster and when she refused, I turned her into one. There were times she was scarier than me. And that was saying a lot. But Raven didn’t belong mixed up in all this. She was a sweet girl from a small town with big dreams.
Enzo was right, I needed to stay away from her. But after that kiss…I didn’t see how that was going to be possible.
The cooks in the kitchen of Dolce Sale stared at me like I had two heads. Watching Enzo explain to them that I would be training as a cook was comical. I understood enough Italian to know that they were not happy about country girl invading their space. Head chef, Arturo, glared at me like I had just stolen his knives.
“Enzo, are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to upset anyone.” I already felt like an outsider enough.
“Si, si. They hate change but they’ll get used to it. I have no doubt you will win them over just as you have done with Ozi.” Enzo handed me a white chef coat and left me standing alone with four angry Italians. If one of them broke the bechamel sauce it would be my fault.
Arturo pointed at the prep station and grumbled something I could barely understand. Something that sounded like mirepoix. I had read enough to know that was a mixture of diced carrots, onions, and celery. I tied my hair back, took a deep breath, and started chopping. Within minutes, he stomped over and yanked the knife out of my hand. “Basta. Stop,” he yelled. “No, watch. Like this.” The way he moved the knife in and out, slicing and dicing, like a dance, it was amazing he didn’t sever a finger. I followed his lead and after a few more tries and more yelling, I got the hang of it. I wasn’t as fast as him, but at least I was starting to get the technique down. And the red in his cheeks began to dissipate. I thought he was going to burst a vein in his neck at one point. If he threw me out of the kitchen, my career as a chef would be over before it even began.
The tension between me and the cooks was starting to subside as we fell into a rhythm. I stayed out of their way and did what I was told. I’d always been a fast learner and I was good at being quiet. When I was a kid, I’d go days without speaking sometimes, just wrapped up in my books. Alex was the one who had drawn me out of my shell. Ironic that he was the reason I retreated back into it.