Working after school wasn’t a choice—it was the only way I could pay my bills. Every shift left my feet aching, but I never complained.
That night, the restaurant doors opened, and my heart dropped.
My boyfriend walked in.
I smiled before realizing he wasn’t alone.
Another girl was wrapped around his arm.
He looked me up and down in my waitress uniform and laughed, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear.
He told me he was done with me. Said I was embarrassing. Said no one wanted a girlfriend who smelled like cheap food and spent her evenings serving tables. Then he kissed the girl right in front of me, leaving a few bills on the table like I was just another waitress.
The entire restaurant watched.
No one said a word.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, wiped my eyes before anyone could notice, picked up my tray, and kept working.
Because I couldn’t afford to fall apart.
Minutes later, I was carrying an expensive bottle of red wine to one of the private tables. My hands were still shaking from what had happened.
One wrong movement.
The bottle slipped.
Deep crimson wine poured over the man’s tailored black suit.
The restaurant froze.
A glass shattered somewhere in the silence.
My manager’s face turned ghost white.
The security guards standing near the entrance reached for their earpieces.
I looked up, ready to apologize.
The man slowly lifted his gaze.
Cold.
Expressionless.
Dangerous.
Only then did I realize every person in the room was terrified of him.
Not because of the ruined suit.
Because he was the man who owned half the city.
The mafia boss.
He stared at me for what felt like forever… then glanced toward my ex, who had suddenly gone completely pale.
A slow, almost amused smile crossed the mafia boss’s face.
He wasn’t looking at the stain anymore.
He was looking at the boy who had just broken me.
And somehow…
That terrified everyone even more.