THE MAFIA BOSS THREW HIS GLASS AT THE WAITRESS—THEN SHE ANSWERED HIM IN ITALIAN AND HE STOPPED THE ENTIRE RESTAURANT
THE MAFIA BOSS THREW HIS GLASS AT THE WAITRESS—THEN SHE ANSWERED HIM IN ITALIAN AND HE STOPPED THE ENTIRE RESTAURANT
The first time Elena Carter met the most feared man in Chicago, she was carrying a tray of champagne.
And he was pointing a gun at the ceiling.
“Everyone stays where they are.”
The restaurant went silent.
A glass slipped from Elena's hand.
It shattered across the marble floor.
She froze.
The man standing in the center of the dining room was Vittorio Romano.
Everyone knew the name.
Nobody said it loudly.
He wore a black suit, no tie, and an expression that made even the manager look terrified.
Two men stood behind him.
One had a scar across his cheek.
The other kept one hand inside his jacket.
Vittorio slowly looked around.
Then his eyes landed on Elena.
“You.”
Her heart stopped.
“Me?”
“Come here.”
She glanced at the manager.
He whispered,
“Go.”
Elena walked toward the table.
Her hands were shaking.
Vittorio pointed at the broken glass.
“You dropped that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
He leaned back.
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Because everyone else in this restaurant looks terrified of you.”
One of his men laughed.
Vittorio didn't.
Instead, he picked up his wineglass.
Then he slammed it onto the table.
CRACK.
Elena flinched.
“You're late.”
“I apologize.”
“You've been ignoring my table for ten minutes.”
“I was serving six other tables.”
“I don't care.”
His voice became colder.
“When I ask for something, I expect it immediately.”
Elena looked at him.
Something inside her snapped.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe it was the way everyone treated this man like a king.
Or maybe she was simply tired of being afraid.
She answered in Italian.
“Forse dovresti imparare a chiedere invece di ordinare. Non sono la tua serva.”
Maybe you should learn to ask instead of command. I'm not your servant.
Silence.
Complete silence.
The scarred man slowly lowered his glass.
The manager looked like he was about to faint.
Vittorio stared at Elena.
Then he asked quietly,
“Where did you learn Italian?”
“My grandmother.”
“Where was she from?”
“Brooklyn.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“My mother was born in Sicily.”
Something changed in his expression.
He switched to Italian.
“And you understand everything I say?”
Elena nodded.
“Everything.”
His men exchanged glances.
Vittorio leaned forward.
“Then you understand what happens to people who disrespect me.”
Elena's pulse raced.
“Yes.”
“And you're still standing there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“Because you're not the only dangerous person in this room.”
One of the men nearly choked.
Vittorio stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
Not loudly.
But genuinely.
The entire restaurant seemed shocked.
He gestured toward the chair opposite him.
“Sit.”
Elena frowned.
“I'm working.”
“I know.”
“I can't sit.”
“Tonight, you can.”
She hesitated.
Then sat.
Vittorio studied her.
“What is your name?”
“Elena.”
“Elena what?”
“Carter.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“And you're not afraid?”
“I didn't say that.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Good answer.”
Then the restaurant doors suddenly burst open.
A man rushed inside.
“Boss!”
Vittorio's expression instantly hardened.
“What happened?”
“The shipment was taken.”
“By whom?”
“We don't know.”
Vittorio stood.
“Who knew about it?”
The man hesitated.
“Only six people.”
Vittorio's eyes narrowed.
“Six?”
“Yes.”
He looked around the restaurant.
Then toward Elena.
She noticed something.
The nervous man who had entered kept looking at the clock.
Elena quietly said,
“Your man is lying.”
Everyone turned toward her.
Vittorio stared.
“What?”
She pointed at the messenger.
“He knew exactly what time the shipment was taken.”
The man went pale.
Vittorio slowly turned toward him.
“How did you know?”
“I—I guessed.”
“No.”
Vittorio's voice became dangerously calm.
“You heard her.”
The man stepped backward.
Then reached inside his jacket.
Vittorio's two guards moved instantly.
“Don't!”
Elena jumped to her feet.
A gunshot cracked through the restaurant.
Everyone screamed.
The lights went out.
For several seconds, there was only darkness.
Then emergency lights flickered on.
The traitor was on the floor.
Vittorio stood over him.
But he wasn't looking at the man.
He was looking at Elena.
“You saw it.”
She nodded, breathing hard.
“The way he kept checking the clock.”
Vittorio walked toward her.
“You just saved my life.”
Elena shook her head.
“I saved myself from being caught in a shootout.”
He smiled.
“You're different.”
“I've been told.”
He stepped closer.
“Come work for me.”
Elena stared at him.
“As what?”
His eyes held hers.
“Someone who notices things my men don't.”
She laughed nervously.
“I don't work for criminals.”
Vittorio's smile disappeared.
“Then perhaps you should find out exactly what kind of man I am before deciding.”
Elena looked into his dark eyes.
“That sounds like a warning.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“It was an invitation.”
And as Elena walked back toward the kitchen, her hands trembling, she realized something terrifying.
She had entered the restaurant as an ordinary waitress.
But somehow, in less than an hour, she had caught the attention of the most dangerous man in Chicago.
And the look in Vittorio Romano's eyes told her one thing:
He wasn't planning to forget her.
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