Damon rounded the desk and looked at the chef. He’d served the De Luca family for years. His cooking was the best he’d ever tasted.
“Do you question my decision?” he asked.
“Damon?”
“It is Mr. De Luca to you, and I suggest you remember your place. If you want to continue to live, you will allow Milah to cook her mother’s dish. If not, I can make arrangements for you not to be so insulted again.”
The threat was clear. Damon wouldn’t allow his insult to slide.
The chef bowed his head, clearly realizing what he had done. A family chef or not, he was not the boss, Damon was.