THE MAFIA BOSS AND THE WAITRESS

Julian Vance stood at the edge of section four, flanked by two corporate associates whose expensive suits couldn't hide the greasy swagger of men who inherited their wealth and lost their morals. Julian was a junior partner at his father’s real estate firm, a man who had spent three years at DePaul treating every woman he met like an interchangeable accessory—and treating Maya with a special brand of venom ever since she had rejected his clumsy advances freshman year.

“Julian,” Maya said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. “If you don't have a reservation, you’re in the wrong section.”

“Oh, I have a reservation,” Julian laughed, stepping closer, his eyes scanning Maya’s body with an insolent, public disrespect that made her skin crawl. He reached out, his fingers brushing roughly against her bare forearm as she tried to step past him. “And I see you’re still moonlighting. Working overtime to pay for those textbooks, sweetheart? Maybe if you were nicer to guys like me, you wouldn't have to carry plates for a living.”

Maya jerked her arm away, her face burning with hot, humiliating fury. “Don't touch me, Julian.”

“Relax, I’m just saying—hey!”

Julian didn't get to finish his sentence.

In a fraction of a second—too fast for the human eye to comfortably track—the heavy leather menu slid off Luca Moretti’s table. Luca stood up.

He didn't run. He didn't shout. He simply moved with the terrifying, inevitable grace of an apex predator closing in on wounded prey.

Before Julian could blink, Luca’s hand shot out, catching Julian by the expensive silk lapel of his jacket and slamming him back against the mahogany partition with a force that rattled the wine glasses on the neighboring tables.

The entire restaurant went dead silent. The jazz music playing over the speakers felt suddenly deafening.

Julian’s face went pale, his eyes bulging as he choked for air, his hands clawing uselessly at Luca’s wrist. “What the—let go of me! Do you know who my father is? I’ll have you—I’ll have this whole place shut down!”

Luca leaned in close, his face inches from Julian’s, his voice dropping to a terrifying, arctic whisper that carried across the entire silent dining room.

“Your father owns three mediocre commercial plazas in the suburbs,” Luca said, his voice smooth as glass and cold as ice. “I own the bank that holds his mortgages, the councilmen who approve his zoning, and the ground he walks on. If you ever touch her again—or even look at her with that expression—I won't just shut you down. I will wipe your family name off the map of Chicago before breakfast.”

Julian’s knees buckled. He couldn't speak. He could only nod frantically, his face turning a sickly shade of gray.

Luca shoved him back with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, sending Julian stumbling backward into his terrified associates, who practically dragged him out the front door without looking back.

The restaurant remained dead silent. Every eye in the room was fixed on table twelve.

Maya stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, staring at Luca with a mixture of shock, awe, and deep, churning alarm.

Luca turned slowly back toward her. He adjusted his cuff, his expression returning to that calm, mask-like composure as if he hadn't just threatened to destroy a man’s entire bloodline over a spilled comment.

“Are you alright?” Luca asked quietly.

Maya swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “You didn't have to do that.”