Shy Waitress Greeted Mafia Boss’s Sicilian Dad—Her Sicilian Dialect Greeting Had Every Guest Frozen

The Confrontation

Louisa stepped back, a floorboard creaking loudly under her foot. The voices stopped instantly.

In a split second, the door was ripped open. Lorenzo stood there, his gun already halfway drawn before he registered who it was.

He lowered the weapon, but his eyes were blazing.

“Eavesdropping,” Lorenzo said.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room.

“A dangerous habit.”

“I have a right to know why people are shooting at me,” Louisa said.

She pulled her arm free. She looked at Salvatore, who was sitting behind a massive desk sipping brandy.

“You want me to open a bank account? That’s it?”

“It is not just a bank account, Picciridda,” Salvatore said.

“It is the legacy of our family and the only way to ensure our survival.”

“And if I refuse?” Louisa asked.

Lorenzo stepped into her personal space. He towered over her, his presence overwhelming.

“You don’t get to refuse. You are in the game now. You can either play, or you can be a pawn that gets sacrificed.”

“I am not a pawn,” Louisa said.

She poked him in the chest. It was a reckless move.

His chest was as hard as a rock. Lorenzo looked down at her finger, then back up to her eyes.

The anger in his gaze shifted, turning into something hotter. The tension in the room spiked.

It wasn’t just fear anymore. It was chemistry—raw, volatile attraction.

“Then prove it,” Lorenzo whispered.

Darkness and Deception

Suddenly, the lights in the mansion flickered and died. The room was plunged into darkness.

“Down!” Lorenzo roared.

He tackled Louisa again, sending them both crashing onto the Persian rug behind the heavy desk.

“Emergency lights!” Salvatore yelled.

Red emergency lights bathed the room in a sinister glow.

“The power was cut,” Lorenzo hissed.

His body was pressed over Louisa’s. She could feel the gun in his shoulder holster digging into her chest.

“Someone bypassed the perimeter.”

“Vinnie?” Salvatore asked.

“Vinnie manages the grid,” Lorenzo said.

The realization was dawning on him.

“He didn’t just laugh at the restaurant. He texted someone.”

The traitor wasn’t a stranger. It was the head of security.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the study—heavy tactical boots.

“Stay here,” Lorenzo commanded Louisa.

He pulled a second gun from an ankle holster and pressed it into her hand. The metal was cold and heavy.

“I, I don’t know how to use this,” Louisa stammered.

Her hands were shaking. Lorenzo grabbed her hand, wrapping her fingers around the grip.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.

“Point, pull. Don’t hesitate. If anyone comes through that door and it isn’t me, you’ll kill them.”

He looked at her one last time, an intensity in his eyes that burned her soul.

“Survive, Louisa.”

Lorenzo vaulted over the desk and disappeared into the shadowed hallway. Gunfire erupted immediately outside the door—deafening, rapid shots.

Louisa curled up under the desk, clutching the gun. She looked at Salvatore.

The old lion was loading a revolver with calm, steady hands.

“Welcome to the family, Louisa,” Salvatore said grimly.

Louisa realized then that the wine and the apron were a lifetime away. She tightened her grip on the gun.

Lorenzo was out there fighting for them. The least she could do was be ready.

But as the door handle to the study slowly began to turn, Louisa realized the threat wasn’t just in the hallway. It was right here.

The Assassin at the Door

The brass handle of the study door turned slowly, the mechanism clicking in the silence between heartbeats. The red emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows across the room, turning the familiar furniture into lurking monsters.

Louisa gripped the heavy pistol with both hands, her knuckles white. She was trembling, but she didn’t drop the gun.

She pointed it at the door, just as Lorenzo had shown her. Point, Pull.

The door swung open. A figure stood there, silhouetted by the muzzle flashes from the hallway.

It was a man in tactical gear, his face covered by a balaclava. He wasn’t Lorenzo.

He raised his rifle. Bang!

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, but it didn’t come from Louisa’s gun. Don Salvatore, seated in his chair, had fired his revolver.

The kickback jerked his arm up, but his aim was true. The mercenary crumpled to the floor, clutching his chest.

“Reloading,” Salvatore rasped.

His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from age and the adrenaline dump. He cracked the cylinder open, dumping the spent shell.

“There’s another one!” Louisa screamed.

A second mercenary stepped over the fallen body. His weapon raised toward the desk.

He didn’t care about the old man. His laser sight swept the room and locked onto Louisa’s chest.

Louisa froze. Her brain screamed at her finger to pull the trigger, but her muscles were locked in terror.

She stared into the black barrel of the rifle, knowing she was about to die. Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the hallway.

Lorenzo. He moved with a violence that was terrifying to behold.

He didn’t shoot. He was too close.

He slammed into the mercenary from behind, driving a combat knife into the gap between the man’s body armor and helmet. The mercenary dropped without a sound.

Lorenzo shoved the body aside and kicked the door shut, locking it. He turned to them, his chest heaving, his pristine white shirt now splattered with red.

He had a cut above his eyebrow that was bleeding freely, running down his face like war paint.

“Are you hit?” Lorenzo demanded.

He rushed to Louisa. He grabbed her shoulders, checking her frantically.

“I… no,” Louisa gasped.

“I didn’t shoot. I couldn’t do it.”

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters,” Lorenzo said.

His voice was rough. He looked at his father.

“We have to move. The east wing is overrun. They have at least 20 men. Vinnie let them in through the delivery bay.”

“The panic room?” Salvatore asked.

He snapped the revolver shut.

“Compromised,” Lorenzo spat.

“Vinnie knows the codes. He knows the layout. If we go to the bunker, we trap ourselves in a concrete coffin. We have to get to the garage. I have the armored sedan prepped.”

“The tunnels,” Salvatore said.

Louisa looked between them.

“Tunnels? Prohibition tunnels?”

“Lorenzo explained, grabbing Louisa’s hand. They run under the foundation to the stables. It’s the only way out.”