She Was Just Serving Coffee When The Mafia Boss Told Her To Drop. Now They’re Hunted By His Own Family.

Part 1

The air in Carmine’s Chop House always tasted like stale beer and burnt grease, sticking to my skin.

It was a dead Tuesday night, the kind of shift that makes you question all your life choices.

My feet were throbbing through the thin soles of my cheap work shoes as I wiped down the counter.

Outside, the storm was raging, the rain blurring the neon lights of the street into a messy painting.

I just wanted to smoke a cigarette, but the bell above the door chimed.

In walked Dominic, smelling like wet wool and bringing a wave of cold air with him.

He wasn’t acting like the usual untouchable boss who ran the neighborhood with an iron fist.

Instead, he looked entirely drained, sporting a nasty purple bruise high on his cheekbone.

I kept my expression blank, grabbing a clean mug and a fresh napkin.

When you work in Gallo territory, you learn early on to keep your mouth shut and your eyes down.

He made his way to booth four, his usual spot in the far corner with a clear view of the exits.

I brought over the pot of black coffee, my voice rough when I asked if he needed anything else.

He grunted, pulling off his leather gloves one finger at a time.

As I reached across the table to set down a small pitcher of cream, my elbow caught the heavy glass salt shaker.

It tumbled over the edge, hitting the floor and rolling under the heavy oak table.

I cursed under my breath, dropping to my knees on the sticky linoleum to retrieve it.

My fingers swept across the rough iron base of the table, searching for the familiar ribbed glass.

Instead of the shaker, my knuckles brushed against a dense block of putty taped securely to the underside.

I paused, confused, and leaned down further to get a better look in the shadows.

Thin wires in red, yellow, and blue snaked their way into a small digital receiver.

A tiny red light was pulsing rhythmically in the darkness.

The sharp, chemical scent of marzipan hit my nose, and my blood ran ice cold.

It was C4 explosive, and I knew exactly what that meant.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to get up, leave my apron on the floor, and sprint out the back door.

Dominic was a dangerous man with dangerous enemies, and standing near him was a liability.

But as I stared at the blinking light, I realized there was no timer attached to the receiver.

Someone was out there, watching the room, waiting for the perfect moment to trigger the blast.

My chest tightened into a painful knot, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the table leg.

I grabbed the salt shaker, forced myself to stand, and locked my shaking knees.

I stepped right up to the edge of his table, invading his personal space, pretending to wipe up a spill.

Look under your table, I whispered, my voice cracking with absolute terror.

His thumb froze on his phone screen, and the air between us turned freezing cold.

What did you say to me, he murmured, his jaw tight and his eyes locked forward.

I kept scrubbing the dry table, my hands trembling so hard the rag was squeaking.

There is a bomb with a red light and wires, and someone is definitely watching us.

I finally met his eyes, and for a split second, the terrifying underboss looked completely human and utterly terrified.

He carefully lowered his coffee mug to the saucer, not making a single sound.

His hand slipped off the table, disappearing beneath the edge as he felt for the explosive.

He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath through his teeth when his fingers brushed the putty.

It is a remote receiver, he muttered, his eyes darting toward the rain-lashed front window.

They are waiting for the trigger, which means they have eyes on us right now.

I told him I was leaving, that I was going out the back, but he grabbed my wrist with a crushing grip.

If you run, they will blow it immediately, and we both die.

I tried to pull away, tears of panic burning my eyes, but he held on like a vice.

He begged me for ten seconds to think, using me as a human shield against the window.

I stood there trembling, blocking their view, my stomach churning with fear.

Then, a black car pulled up to the curb, and Dominic flinched as his own trusted crew stepped out into the rain.

The bell chimed cheerfully as the men sworn to protect him walked inside, his right-hand man holding a black plastic detonator.

Now, Dominic roared, kicking the table as hard as he could.

[Find out what happened next]