The Waitress, the Mafia Boss, and the Daughter Who Came Back from the Dead

The liquid tasted like ash and bitter earth.

Lorenzo choked as the waitress forced it down his throat, clamping a hand over his mouth so he couldn’t spit it out.

“Swallow it,” she ordered, her voice completely devoid of panic. “It’s a highly concentrated carbon binder. It will neutralize the strychnine compound, but it’s going to hurt.”

She wasn’t lying.

The moment the liquid hit his stomach, Lorenzo felt a violent, agonizing cramping. He rolled onto his side, coughing violently as his body fought a war against the poison. It felt like hot coals were being dragged through his digestive tract.

But his vision began to clear. The heavy, paralyzing weight in his limbs slowly began to lift.

He lay on the carpet, chest heaving, staring up at the skylight. The gunfire downstairs had completely stopped. The eerie silence of the restaurant was deafening.

The waitress sat back on her heels, wiping a drop of sweat from her forehead.

“My name is Clara,” she said quietly. “And we need to leave. Right now.”

Lorenzo forced himself up onto one elbow. His muscles screamed in protest, but he was alive. He looked at Julian’s lifeless body, then at the silver rattle on the floor. He picked it up, his large hand completely enclosing the tiny object.

“Who shot him?” Lorenzo asked, his voice a raspy whisper.

“I don’t know,” Clara said, glancing toward the dark hallway. “Someone in the shadows. They’re cleaning up loose ends. Julian was a pawn. Just like you.”

Lorenzo pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against a leather armchair. The betrayal stung worse than the poison. But the shock of his daughter being alive overshadowed it all.

“You said your mother has my daughter,” Lorenzo said, his dark eyes locking onto Clara’s. “You gave me a photograph. Explain.”

Clara stood up. “Seventeen years ago, your father ordered a hit on my mother, Sofia. She was a maid in your family estate. She heard a conversation she shouldn’t have heard. She survived the hit, faked her death, and went into hiding. Three years ago, she found out your father was planning to fake your daughter’s death to punish you for going soft. My mother stole Mia before your father’s men could take her. She’s been hiding her ever since.”

Lorenzo felt the world tilt on its axis. His own father. The man who had comforted him at the funeral.

“If she’s been hiding her for three years,” Lorenzo said, stepping closer to Clara, “why come to me tonight? Why risk exposing yourselves?”

Clara looked away, her jaw tight. “Because my mother’s safe house was compromised this morning. The people who wanted you dead tonight? They found out Mia is alive. They’re hunting her.”

Before Lorenzo could process the information, a faint buzzing sound broke the silence.

It was coming from Julian’s jacket pocket.

Lorenzo walked over to the body, ignoring the blood soaking into the carpet, and pulled out a cheap, black burner phone. The screen was cracked, but the text message was perfectly legible.

IS IT DONE? DID HE DRINK IT?

Lorenzo stared at the screen. He recognized the cadence of the message. He knew the sender without needing a name.

He typed back with his thumb.

YES.

Three dots appeared on the screen. The sender was typing.

Then, the phone rang.

Lorenzo answered it, putting it to his ear. He didn’t say a word.

“Julian?” a woman’s voice whispered.

Elegant. Perfect. Cold.

Celeste.

His beautiful, composed fiancée. The woman who had been sitting next to him when the poison was poured.

Lorenzo’s grip on the phone tightened until the plastic casing creaked. “Julian is dead, Celeste.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Then, a long, chilling silence. When Celeste finally spoke, the sweet, supportive tone she had used for three years was entirely gone.

“You always were too stubborn to die when you were supposed to, Lorenzo.”

“Why?” Lorenzo asked, his voice dangerously calm.

“Because your father promised me the empire,” Celeste spat. “He knew you were weak. He arranged our marriage so I could take over when you inevitably failed. But you didn’t fail. You tried to turn the business legitimate. You tried to take my crown. I couldn’t allow that.”

“You poisoned me.”

“I did,” she admitted smoothly. “And now that you’ve survived, we have a different problem. You see, I know the waitress is with you. And I know her mother has something that belongs to you.”

Lorenzo’s blood ran cold.

“If you touch her—”

“Oh, I haven’t touched her,” Celeste interrupted. “But I will. Unless you bring the offshore ledger to the old shipping yard by midnight. Just you.”

“I don’t believe you have her,” Lorenzo lied, his heart pounding.

“Really?” Celeste laughed softly. “Listen.”

There was a rustling sound over the phone. Then, a small, terrified voice came through the speaker.