The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Slapped The Waitress — What He Did Next Shocked The Restaurant

The Falling Empire

The silence that followed Dante’s declaration was heavier than the one following the slap. It was the silence of a bomb having just detonated, with the dust settling over the ruins of a political alliance.

Tiffany Blair stood frozen, her face flushing a deep, mottled crimson that clashed with her ruined red dress.

“You can’t be serious.” She stammered, her voice shrill.

“My father… the port deal… the election…”

“Your father,” Dante said, his voice bored, “is a man who knows better than to bet against the house. I don’t need his permits, Tiffany. I never did. I was doing him a favor.”

Dante stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper that only she and Anna could hear.

“I tolerate many things in my world, Tiffany: greed, ambition, even ruthlessness. But I do not tolerate cruelty toward those who cannot fight back. It is a sign of weakness, and I do not marry weak women.”

He gestured to the door.

“Leave before I have security escort you out. And take your check. I don’t want you coming back claiming I owe you a dime.”

Tiffany looked around the room. She saw the diners staring, some hiding smirks behind their napkins.

Her social standing was crumbling in real time. With a strangled cry of rage, she snatched the check from the floor, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the restaurant.

The heavy glass doors swung shut behind her. Dante Vance didn’t watch her go; he turned his attention back to Anna.

Anna was trembling, still holding the ice pack to her cheek. She was terrified.

She had just been the catalyst for the breakup of the city’s biggest power couple. She knew how these stories went: the rich man defends the poor girl to look good, then fires her quietly in the back office to remove the reminder of the incident.

“Mr. Vance,” Anna whispered, lowering the ice.

“I will pack my things. I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

She turned to flee toward the kitchen, but Dante’s hand shot out, catching her wrist. His grip was firm but not painful.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“To leave. To quit before you fire me.”

Dante frowned.

“Who said you were fired?”

“But the trouble—”

“You didn’t cause trouble, Anastasia.” Dante said.

He released her wrist but kept his gaze locked on hers.

“You revealed a problem I should have seen months ago. You did me a favor.”

He looked at Mr. Henderson, who was sweating profusely nearby.

“Henderson.”

“Yes, Mr. Vance.”

“Anastasia is done for the night. Put her on paid leave for the week to recover.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“And Henderson, sir, if anyone from the Blair family calls or tries to enter this establishment, they are barred permanently.”

Dante turned back to Anna.

“Come with me.”

“Excuse me?” Anna blinked.

“My driver is outside. I’m taking you home. I don’t trust Tiffany not to have someone waiting for you by the employee exit.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.”

“It wasn’t a request.” Dante said, though his tone was softer now.

He gestured toward the main exit. Anna hesitated.

She looked at her scuffed work shoes, then at Dante’s polished oxfords. She had no money for a cab, and taking the subway at 11:00 p.m. after humiliating a senator’s daughter was dangerous.

“Okay.” She whispered.

A Hero and a Monster

They walked out of the restaurant together. The paparazzi, tipped off by someone inside, were already swarming the entrance.

Flashes popped like lightning strikes. Dante placed a protective hand on the small of Anna’s back, guiding her through the throng of photographers shouting questions about Tiffany.

He shielded her face with his body, ushering her into the back of a sleek, black armored SUV. The door shut, sealing out the noise and the rain.

The interior smelled of expensive leather and cedarwood.

“Where do you live?” Dante asked as the car pulled away.

“Astoria, 34th Street.” Anna said, feeling small in the vast leather seat.

Dante tapped on the partition.

“Astoria, driver.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the city lights blurred past the rain-streaked windows. Anna kept stealing glances at him.

He was terrifying, yes, but there was something else. He seemed haunted.

“Why did you do that?” Anna asked suddenly, her curiosity overriding her fear.

“Everyone is afraid of you. They say you’re a monster. But you just… you helped me.”

Dante looked out the window.

“I don’t like bullies. And I don’t like debts.”

“Debts? I don’t owe you anything.”

“No,” Dante said, turning to look at her.

His eyes dropped to the silver locket around her neck again.

“But I might owe you.”

Anna instinctively covered the locket with her hand.

“What do you mean?”

“That locket,” Dante said.

“The compass. Where did you get it?”

Anna stiffened.

“It was my father’s. He died a long time ago.”

“Your father,” Dante repeated.

“His name was Robert?”

“Robert Sterling.”

Anna’s breath hitched. She pressed herself back against the door.

“How do you know that?”

Dante’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face recasting into something that looked almost like sorrow.

“Because, Anastasia, Robert Sterling was the only man I ever trusted. He was my father’s consigliere, and he saved my life when I was a boy.”

The Sins of the Father

Anna stared at him, her mind reeling. Her father had been a simple accountant, hadn’t he?

That’s what her mother had always said. He died in a car accident when Anna was ten.

“You’re mistaken.” Anna said, her voice shaking.

“My father was an accountant.”

“Is that what they told you?” Dante asked gently.

“Did they tell you he died in a car crash on the I-95?”

Anna nodded mutely.

“He didn’t,” Dante said.

“He died taking a bullet meant for me during the turf war of ’08. He died a hero. And before he died, he gave me something to give to his daughter if I ever found her.”

Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch. He opened it, revealing a silver ring—a heavy, signet-style ring with a crest that matched the compass on her locket.

“He wanted you to be safe,” Dante said.

“So he had your mother change your names and move you away. I’ve been looking for Robert’s family for twelve years, and tonight, you spilled champagne on my fiancée.”

A small, dry laugh escaped Anna’s lips. The absurdity of it was overwhelming.

“So,” Anna managed to say, “you’re not firing me because my dad worked for you?”

“I’m not firing you because you’re family.” Dante said firmly.

“In my world, loyalty is blood. Your father bled for me. That makes you under my protection.”

The car came to a smooth halt in front of her run-down apartment building in Astoria. The contrast between the luxury SUV and the peeling paint of her building was stark.

“Listen to me carefully, Anastasia.” Dante said, his voice turning serious again.

“Tiffany is petty, but her father, Senator Blair, is dangerous. He uses the law like a weapon. By humiliating Tiffany, I’ve started a war, and you are now a target because the press will paint you as the ‘other woman’ to sell papers.”

“I’m just a waitress.” Anna protested.

“Not anymore.” Dante said.

He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Tomorrow morning, do not go to the restaurant. A car will pick you up at 8:00 a.m. You’re coming to Vance Tower.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dante said, his eyes flashing with a dark promise, “if Tiffany wants a war, I’m going to need someone I can trust. And if you have your father’s blood in you, you’re smarter than you look.”

Anna took the card.

“I was a medical student,” she blurted out before the money ran out.

“I’m not just a waitress.”

Dante smiled, a rare, genuine smile that transformed his face.

“I know. I saw how you handled the cut on your hand when the glass broke last week. You didn’t panic. You triaged.”

“You were watching me last week?”

“I watch everything in my city.” Dante said.

“Go inside. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me.”