I Gave My Last $500 To A Freezing Mechanic — I Didn’t Know He Was New York’s Most Feared Boss
Part 2
“Dominic Romano,” the thug breathed out, his face completely draining of color.
He scrambled backward so fast he nearly tripped over his unconscious partner.
Dom didn’t even flinch, keeping his broad shoulders squared between me and the doorway.
He grabbed the terrified man by his lapels, pulling him so close I could hear the fabric tear.
“If I ever see your faces in this borough again,” Dom whispered, his voice dripping with pure menace.
“I won’t just kill you.”
“I will dismantle the entire syndicate brick by brick.”
“Take your trash and run.”
He shoved the enforcer backward, sending him crashing into a display of shortbread cookies.
The man hauled his wheezing partner off the floor, and they bolted out into the snow like the devil himself was chasing them.
The bakery fell into a deafening, terrifying silence, broken only by the hum of the espresso machine.
Dom stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving slightly under his faded canvas jacket.
He turned around slowly, stepping toward me with his hands raised in a gentle, placating gesture.
I shrank back against the counter, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the cold marble.
“Who are you?” I gasped, my voice trembling uncontrollably.
“What did he call you?”
The illusion of the destitute, exhausted mechanic completely melted away right in front of my eyes.
The hunched posture vanished, replaced by the towering, hardened stance of an underworld king.
“My name is Dominic Romano,” he confessed, his voice steady but laced with a profound, bitter regret.
“I am the underboss of the Romano syndicate.”
“Everything I told you about being a broke mechanic living above a laundromat was a lie.”
Tears welled instantly in my eyes as the crushing weight of his words washed over me.
My mind raced back to the five hundred dollars in my cramped living room.
My entire life savings, my meticulously guarded ticket to culinary school, pressed into his calloused hands just twenty-four hours ago.
“You let me give you everything I had,” I whispered, my voice cracking painfully.
“You sat on my sofa watching me panic about you freezing to death, and you were a billionaire playing dress-up.”
“It was a test, Heather,” he pleaded, taking another step forward despite my visceral retreat.
“In my world, everyone wants a piece of my wealth.”
“I had to know if someone could care for just a man with absolutely nothing.”
“You gave me your last dime.”
“You passed the test.”
The profound sorrow in my chest violently morphed into sudden, blazing anger.
I grabbed the damp cloth I had been holding and hurled it directly at his chest.
“I am not one of your mafia subjects, Dominic!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.
“You ruthlessly exploited my kindness because you thought the fat bakery girl was desperate enough for human connection.”
“Get out!”
Before he could even attempt to soothe my rage, the front glass storefront of the bakery shattered inward with a deafening explosion.
High-caliber bullets tore through the display cases, pulverizing the tiered cakes and sending jagged shards of glass flying like deadly shrapnel.
Dom lunged with predatory speed, tackling me to the floor just as a barrage of automatic gunfire ripped through the exact spot where I had been standing.
He covered me entirely with his massive frame, acting as a human shield while the bakery was mercilessly torn apart around us.
He reached to the small of his back, drawing a sleek, black handgun he had secretly carried even in his disguise.
He fired three precise shots through the shattered window, dropping two men on the snowy sidewalk before the screeching tires of a getaway car echoed down the block.
Within seconds, armored SUVs slammed to a halt outside, and heavily armed men poured into the ruined bakery.
Dom stood up, tossing a thick, sealed envelope onto the counter before walking out into the freezing wind without a single backward glance.
He left me shivering in the ruins of my life with a stack of untraceable cash, but would he ever come back for the woman whose heart he broke?
