The Four Mafia Men and Their Prize by M C

3- Bite My A r s e – Part 1
Aurora POV
2 weeks later
“Aurora! I need a chicken cordon bleu, two ribeye steaks medium rare, and a lemon salmon. Let’s hurry it up!” Chef Alexander
bellows. He is such a p r i c k. A genius in the kitchen and a 2 Michelin Star recipient but still a p r i c k. He’s been my mentor for
3 years now. Love him and hate him. If that’s even possible...
“Yes Chef” I say quickly and begin preparing the orders just read.
It’s another typical busy Friday night at Saturn. The crème de le crème of restaurants. Rated five stars, six years in a row. It has
those fancy porcelain plates, small yet exuberant portions that the rich and famous pay hundreds of dollars just to sample a
taste. We even plate our decadent desserts with 24k gold flakes! The customers are all snobs, dripping with diamonds and Rolex
watches, designer shoes that cost half my salary. Ugh. Must be nice.
I should be grateful I have this job. It’s not special but it pays the bills. I’m a sou chef now, an assistant if you will. One of five in
this noisy bustling kitchen. Pots and pans banging around, cutlery scraping on the metal, crystal glasses tinkling – ching ching.
Waiters in their tuxes scurrying with trays through the doors and in those fleeting moments where the doors are opened you can
hear the faint ambiance of classical piano music live. Those ivory keys are graced by delicate fingers, and it brings peace to
those dining in the ballroom.
I have been here for about 5 years now. Worked as server starting at age 16. I went to culinary school because Chef Alex said I
had potential. He caught me after hours experimenting in the kitchen. I tried making some stuffed hamburgers and called it my
“Peek-a-boo burger.” Instead of throwing me to the curb, Chef just watched me. We split the burger. It was the first time I ever
saw him smile. It wasn’t a big shiny smile, but just little creases in his chin. He said “You have potential kid. You are going to go
to culinary school and will train under me. I will make a chef out of you.”
It’s fun but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. I enjoy cooking but my passion is projects and design. So, while I was
in culinary school I worked hard, got a scholarship, and finished my bachelor’s in project design in a record 2 years.
That’s why I went to DuPont this week. It was my third attempt to apply, and I finally got an interview. Too bad I got stuck with
Malibu Wannabe Barbie. It was an interview for a project-based internship. I am only 21. I have a bachelor’s in art management.
They get these incredible projects around the world – museums, office buildings, new construction projects. It’s an artist’s dream.

The opportunities are endless. But being stuck in a kitchen doesn’t quite translate to the type of project experience these big
companies are looking for.
Ring!
“Who the heck has their phone on? You know the rules in my kitchen” Chef screamed! His face became red.
Ring!
Ring!
“Umm. Chef – it’s your phone,” one of the assistants meekly whispered.
“Oh. Continue” Chef said, calming down realizing he let his quick temper get the best of him.
“This is Alex” he said, lifting his phone to his ear, holding it with his right shoulder against his face while he takes the hot pan with
vegetables off the high flame of the stove and begins to plate it on the 6 rectangular porcelain plates in front of him.
“What?” He shouts. His face pales instantly. All color disappearing and his eyes widen and dilate as if he saw a ghost. He drops
the hot skillet on the plates, shattering two. The food falls all over the counter and on the floor.
“Damn!” he says looking around in a panic. I quickly leave my station and grab the hot skillet with my cloth and return it next to
the stove and begin to wipe up the spilled food as I watch Chef’s eyes slowly start to glisten. He is not looking anywhere in
particular trying to gain his composure and listening intently to the conversation in his ear.
“Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can” he whispers, clearly defeated in his otherwise strong voice.
“Go” I say. I do not even hesitate. Whatever it is, he cannot function right now. “I’ve got this Chef. Just go.”

“You sure little chef?” He smirks, trying to gain back control and strength.
“Yeah Chef. We got this.” I say.
“Okay. If you need me, call me” he says back and starts to walk away to the office. He stops suddenly and turns around, a
softness to his face, relief? “I owe you one Aurora.” he meekly says and then hurries to the office, grabs his coat, and quickly
leaves through the back door.
It has now been almost two hours since Chef left. Things are a little hectic but are finally slowing down. Only about fifteen tables
are occupied. I have picked up chefs’ job of plating and quality checks. We have about 30 more minutes until closing.
The front of house manager Mr. Pearson hurries in, almost colliding with the server Max with a tray full of food. He is a shorter
man, 5’8 at most. More stocky build with a bit of a beer gut. He has an unruly beard and greasy slicked black hair that is clearly
balding on the crown of his head. Wire rim glasses frame his eyes and make his face look like a marshmallow. He is wearing his
bow tie tuxedo.
“Alex!” he screams. His voice has a deep sandpaper scratch. He is frantically searching through the warming stalls. “Where is
Alex?” He looks around, asking everyone he can make eye contact with.
“Chef had a personal emergency. I am lead for tonight. What can I do for you Sir” I calmly state while I wipe my hands on the
blue cleaning cloth attached to my right hip.
“F u c k! I need Chef! We have incredibly special VIP here and they have requested ‘The Chefs Secret Special’ like they always
do.” He sighs in defeat. His forehead is visibly sweating, his eyes are downcast, and he is fidgeting with his fingers as if he has
some secret to tell.
“Well, tell them Chef is gone and they can order from the menu! The kitchen will be closing shortly.” I say blandly.

“Excuse me? One cannot simply tell them no. They want the special from the chef, so get it done! They expect perfection and
something new. Make it happen.... chef” he says defiantly, saying chef like he had a bad taste in his m o u t h. He straightens his
tie, holds his head high and pushes his way back out to the ballroom. Ugh, what an a s s.
Well shit. I have never heard of the ‘Secret Special.’ I guess that is why it’s called a secret. Ha! I do know Chef makes special
dishes not on the menu sometimes for special guests. Hmmm. I can’t call him. I have never seen Chef that way in all the years I
have known him.
Hmmm. Secret special not on the menu... Need to impress? Oh, I have the perfect meal for this VIP client who demands
“perfection.” I am so wicked, and I am probably going to be fired. It is going to be worth it! This is going to be fun.
20 minutes later...
“Take these to the private room for the special VIP” I say to Max with a million-dollar smile plastered on my face. He looks at me
like I am headless. Oh Maxi, you have no idea.
“You’re serious?” Max questions.
“As serious as ice cream on apple pie sweet cheeks. Now shoo” I say back.
“Yes ma’am” he salutes sarcastically and takes the tray with my greatest creation on the plate, and I get back to cleaning the
kitchen. I chuckle to myself, letting a devilish smile grace my face.
It has now been an hour since the kitchen has been closed for the night. Most of the staff were sent home. I am sitting in the little
kitchen office, reviewing the inventory books for the chef when Mr. Pearson once again waltzes into the kitchen.
“You!’ He is still standing on the other side of the kitchen near the ballroom doors. He points to me through the open door and
then snaps his fingers and motions a “come here” with his pointer finger.
I slowly get up, perplexed as to his behavior.
“What is your name again?” he asks rudely. Maybe he needs to brush his teeth to get the venom out of his m o u t h.
“Aurora” I answer. “What do you want Mr. Pearson?”
“You have been summoned” he says between clinched teeth and yet a weird, forced smile donned his face making him look
scary creepy like those chuckie dolls. “Follow me. Now.” He ordered as he was already walking out the door.

I walked with him through the empty ballroom. The last few staff members set up the remaining tables for the following day. The
red carpet and dark regal blue paint on the walls sharply contrasting against the gold accents and massive crystal chandeliers
grace the ceiling that twinkle like diamonds in the sky giving an ambiance of royalty.
The golden door in front of us reads Private VIP and is slightly open. I follow Mr. Pearson inside after he softly knocks three
times.
“Sirs, as requested. This is Aurora,” Mr. Pearson says with such reverence and bowed at the waist before stepping to the side
allowing me to see who is in front of me.
At a singular round table, adorned with crystal vase full of flowers sat four God looking men, all dressed like they just walked off
a modeling runway. Their auras screamed power. I couldn’t help it; I felt the need to bow my head. It took all my strength not to
just drop to my k n e e s in submission.
“You!” one of them whispered. I instantly looked up and caught the eye of the man I saw two weeks ago. Those beautiful hazel
eyes.
“We meet again sweetheart” he says.