He Saved a Beaten Waitress From Her Ex—But the Mafia Boss’s Next Order Turned a Simple Rescue Into a Ruthless War
CHAPTER 1 — THE MAN WHO DIDN’T RAISE HIS VOICE
I stood at the end of Vincent DeLuca’s table, staring at the marble floor like it held answers I wasn’t brave enough to say out loud.
“What happened outside?” he asked again.
His voice wasn’t louder this time. It didn’t need to be.
Something about it made the entire restaurant feel smaller.
“I…” My throat tightened. I forced the words out. “It’s nothing, sir. Just—personal issues.”
A long silence followed.
Not awkward. Not uncertain.
Measured.
Vincent slowly set his wine glass down. The sound of crystal touching marble was sharp enough to make my skin tighten.
“Look at me.”
I didn’t want to.
But I did.
Those dark eyes weren’t curious. They weren’t soft either.
They were assessing damage the way someone might study a broken window.
His gaze stopped on my wrist.
The purple fingerprints.
Something in his expression changed—but only for a second. Like a door had opened and closed too fast for anyone else to see inside.
“Who did that to you?” he asked.
“I fell,” I lied immediately.
Vincent leaned back slightly.
And then, almost quietly, he said, “You’re a terrible liar.”
My pulse spiked.
Before I could respond, the kitchen door opened again.
Antonio stepped out, hesitating. “Mr. DeLuca… I think you should know—there was a man outside earlier. He was arguing with Elena. I didn’t see everything but—”
I closed my eyes.
So much for silence.
Vincent didn’t look at Antonio.
He kept his eyes on me.
“How long has he been doing this?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It’s not what you think.”
That was the wrong answer.
Vincent stood.
The entire restaurant felt it.
Even the distant staff froze.
He adjusted his cufflinks slowly. Calmly. Like whatever came next had already been decided before I even walked into his world.
“Bring me security footage,” he said to no one in particular.
A voice answered instantly from the hallway. “Already on it.”
I blinked.
Already?
Vincent took one step closer to me.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I can’t—”
“That wasn’t a request.”
So I sat.
Because something in his tone didn’t allow refusal.
He took the seat across from me.
For the first time, I realized how close he actually was. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—dark, expensive, controlled.
“You work here how long?” he asked.
“Two years.”
“Anyone else bothering you besides the man outside?”
I hesitated too long.
That was enough.
Vincent’s jaw tightened slightly.
And for the first time that night, his voice changed.
Not louder.
May you like
Colder.
“Bring me his name.”
