The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Slapped The Waitress — What He Did Next Shocked The Restaurant
The Contract
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He flipped it open.
Inside sat a diamond that made Tiffany’s engagement ring look like a piece of broken glass. It was a rare blue diamond surrounded by smaller white stones, set in platinum.
“This was my mother’s,” Dante said.
“It is the only thing the senator fears: legitimacy. If I marry a common girl—a hardworking medical student whose father was a war hero—the public will eat it up. We become the fairy tale, and Tiffany becomes the bitter ex who tried to frame Cinderella.”
“This is insane,” Anna whispered.
“I can’t marry a mafia boss.”
“It’s a contract.” Elellanena interjected professionally.
“Six months. You live here, you attend galas, you smile for the cameras. In exchange, Dante pays off your mother’s medical bills in full, pays off your student loans, and sets up a trust fund that will ensure you never have to carry a tray again.”
Anna looked at the ring, then at Dante. She thought about her mother lying in a hospital bed, worrying about the cost of her medication.
She thought about the humiliation in the restaurant. She thought about Detective Miller sneering at her.
“And the senator?” Anna asked.
“What happens to him?”
Dante’s expression turned predatory.
“While the world is watching our romance, Eleanor and I will be dismantling his empire brick by brick. By the time our wedding date arrives, Senator Blair will be lucky if he can get a job as a mall Santa.”
Anna took a deep breath. She reached out and took the ring.
It was heavy.
“One condition,” Anna said.
Dante raised an eyebrow.
“Name it.”
“I’m not just a prop,” she said, her chin lifted high.
“If we do this, you treat me with respect, and you tell me the truth about my father. Everything.”
Dante smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes.
“Deal?”
He took the ring from her fingers and slid it onto her hand. It fit perfectly.
“Welcome to the family, Anastasia.”
The Transformation
The next three days were a whirlwind that Anna could barely comprehend. She was no longer Anna the waitress; she was Anastasia Sterling, the future Mrs. Vance.
Dante didn’t do things by halves. He hired a team of stylists, etiquette coaches, and security detail.
But unlike Tiffany, who treated staff like garbage, Dante treated his team like a military unit: with precision and respect. Anna learned quickly.
She learned how to walk in six-inch Louboutins without wincing. She learned which fork to use for escargot.
But more importantly, she spent her evenings with Dante in his study, listening to him tell stories about her father. She learned that Robert Sterling hadn’t just been a bodyguard; he had been the moral compass of the Vance Syndicate.
He had kept Dante’s father from crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.
“You have his spirit,” Dante told her one night as they sat on the balcony, watching the rain over the city.
“You stood up to Tiffany. Most men in my organization wouldn’t dare do that.”
“I was terrified.” Anna admitted.
“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear,” Dante said, looking at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
“It’s acting in spite of it.”
The real test came on Saturday night: the Metropolitan Charity Gala. It was the biggest social event of the year.
The senator would be there. Tiffany would be there. And Dante intended to introduce his new fiancée to the world.
Anna stood in front of the mirror in the master bedroom. She hardly recognized herself.
She was wearing a custom-made gown of midnight blue velvet that hugged her curves and pooled on the floor like liquid night. It was strapless, showcasing her creamy skin and the diamond necklace Dante had gifted her—a piece worth more than the restaurant she used to work in.
Her hair was swept up in an intricate chignon with loose tendrils framing her face. Her makeup was bold, highlighting her eyes.
“You look—” Dante’s voice trailed off from the doorway.
Anna turned. Dante was wearing a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin.
He looked devastatingly handsome, dangerous, and regal.
“You look worthy of a queen.” Dante finished, walking over to her.
He offered his arm.
“Are you ready for war, Anastasia?”
Anna took his arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fine wool.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The Social War
The arrival at the gala was chaos. The moment Dante’s limousine pulled up, the paparazzi swarmed.
Flashbulbs blinded them. Reporters shouted questions.
“Dante, is it true? Who is she? What about Tiffany?”
Dante ignored them all. He guided Anna up the red carpet, his hand firm on her waist.
He didn’t rush. He let them see her.
He let them see the ring. Inside the ballroom was a sea of diamonds and designer suits.
When Dante and Anna entered, the room went silent. The music didn’t stop, but the conversation did.
At the far end of the room, holding court near the Champagne Tower, was Senator Blair and Tiffany. Tiffany looked haggard; her eyes were puffy, though she tried to hide it with heavy makeup.
She was wearing a gold dress that looked too desperate, too flashy. When she saw Anna, her glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor—a poetic echo of the incident at the restaurant.
Dante leaned down to Anna’s ear.
“Head high. Smile. You own this room.”
They moved through the crowd. People who would have ignored Anna a week ago were now practically bowing.
Dante introduced her simply:
“My fiancée, Anastasia.”
They made their way to the senator. It was unavoidable; it was the main event.
Senator Blair was a large man with a red face and a fake smile that didn’t reach his shark-like eyes.
“Dante!” The senator boomed, though his voice was tight.
“And the waitress. I see you clean up well.”
“Anastasia,” Dante corrected icily.
“And yes, she does. Unlike some, she doesn’t need a title to have class.”
Tiffany stepped forward, trembling with rage.
“You think you can just bring her here in front of me? This is a joke, Dante. She’s a gold digger. Everyone knows it!”
Anna felt the anger flare in her chest, but she remembered her training. She remembered her father.
“Tiffany,” Anna said, her voice calm and melodic.
“I understand you’re hurting. Breakups are hard. But please don’t embarrass yourself further. The bracelet incident was bad enough.”
A few people nearby gasped. The senator’s eyes narrowed.
“Watch your tongue, girl!” The senator hissed.
“You’re playing a dangerous game. You think Dante can protect you? He’s a criminal, and criminals always crash.”
“Actually, Senator,” Elellanena’s voice cut in as she appeared beside them, holding a glass of sparkling water.
“We’re currently reviewing the legality of your offshore holdings in Panama. It seems criminals come in all shapes and sizes. Some even wear Senate pins.”
The senator paled.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” Dante said softly.
“Touch her or her family, and I release the files. Enjoy the party, Senator.”
Dante swept Anna away onto the dance floor. He pulled her close, his hand warm on her back as they began to sway to the waltz.
Anna felt a rush of adrenaline.
“We did it,” she whispered.
“Not yet,” Dante said, his eyes scanning the room over her shoulder.
“The senator is cornered, and a cornered rat bites.”
The Rat Bites Back
The attack happened two days later. It wasn’t a lawsuit. It wasn’t a headline.
It was physical. Anna was leaving the Vance Tower to visit her mother at the private clinic Dante had transferred her to.
She had insisted on going alone—just a quick trip with the driver. She felt safe.
The media loved her; the public was on her side. But as the car idled at a red light in a quiet intersection, a heavy delivery truck slammed into the side of the limo.
Glass shattered. Metal screamed. The world spun violently.
Anna blacked out for a moment. When she came to, she was being dragged out of the wreckage by rough hands.
She coughed, tasting blood.
“Get her in the van! Go, go!”
She was thrown into the back of a windowless van. A hood was shoved over her head.
Zip-ties bit into her wrists. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her concussion.
She didn’t scream. She forced herself to breathe.
Think. Triangulate. Listen. She heard the hum of the engine, the sound of tires on gravel.
They were leaving the city. After what felt like an hour, the van stopped.
She was hauled out and dragged into a building that smelled of damp concrete and rust. The hood was ripped off.
She was in an abandoned warehouse. Standing in front of her, flanked by two armed thugs, was not the senator.
It was Tiffany.
A Hostage Situation
Tiffany held a gun, her hand shaking. She looked unhinged.
Her hair was messy, her eyes wild.
“You took everything!” Tiffany screamed, her voice echoing in the empty space.
“My fiancé, my reputation, my father’s legacy! He’s ruined because of you!”
“Tiffany, put the gun down,” Anna said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the throbbing in her head.
“This isn’t the way.”
“Shut up!” Tiffany fired a shot into the ceiling.
Anna flinched.
“My father is being indicted! Eleanor Vance leaked the documents this morning. The FBI is at our house right now. It’s over!”
“If it’s over,” a deep voice boomed from the shadows, “then why dig the hole deeper?”
Tiffany spun around. Dante Vance stepped out of the darkness of the loading dock entrance.
He was alone. He wore a black trench coat, his hands empty, held out to his sides.
“Dante!” Tiffany cried, aiming the gun at him.
“Stay back! I’ll kill her, I swear I’ll kill her!”
“You won’t,” Dante said, walking forward slowly, his steps echoing on the concrete.
“Because you’re not a killer, Tiffany. You’re a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. Your father put you up to this, didn’t he? He wanted a hostage to trade for his freedom.”
“He said you would listen!” Tiffany sobbed.
“He said you loved me once!”
“I never loved you,” Dante said, his voice devoid of pity.
“I tolerated you. But this woman…” He looked at Anna, his eyes burning with a terrifying protectiveness.
“If you hurt her, Tiffany, there is no place on Earth you can hide. I will burn the world down to find you.”
“Stop walking!” Tiffany shrieked.
She swung the gun back toward Anna. Bang!
The shot rang out. Anna squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain.
But it wasn’t Tiffany who fired. Tiffany gasped, dropping the gun.
She clutched her shoulder where a red blossom of blood was spreading. She fell to her knees, wailing.
From the catwalks above, red laser sights dotted the room. Dante’s snipers.
They had been there the whole time. The two thugs holding Anna raised their hands instantly, realizing they were outmatched.
