Cook for the Mafia Boss

its screen glowing faintly in the room's dim light. Every instinct screamed at her to walk away, but her finger hovered over the "accept" button. Can I rely on him? The question echoed

Luca's domain, and she was an outsider. As she stepped inside, the staff barely looked up. Their eyes flicked to her with cold curiosity, silent judgments running through the room. She felt their gaze like ice on her skin, pressing her from every direction. Francesca hesitated, the weight of their silent scrutiny almost making her turn back. She could feel their murmurs, and whispers of her arrival. But she stayed. Barely. Then, a voice sliced through the tension. "Francesca." She turned sharply. Luca stood by the back of the room, his dark eyes locked on hers, assessing. His face was unreadable, but there was something about the way he watched her, like he was seeing through her. "Today you'll be working with Thomas," Luca said, his tone not a suggestion, but an order. "We'll talk later. Get settled." It wasn't an option. It was a command. He expected perfection. Following the head chef into the kitchen, Francesca nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. The staff split like water around her, but their eyes didn't leave her. The silence in the room was thick, stifling, as if Luca himself was watching her every move. It felt suffocating. Hours passed, each second stretched under the constant heat, noise, and the rhythmic sound of chopping and sizzling. But no matter how hard she focused, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every motion, every plate she set down, was met with a ghostly gaze. Luca was always there, observing from the corner, his dark eyes never leaving her. She plated a dish, and when she looked up, there he was again. His eyes fixed on her, watching. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, like he knew something she didn't. As he passed by her, he spoke in that low, commanding voice, "Good. You're starting to understand what matters."