Chapter 2 - For the first time in his life, Vincent understood what helplessness felt like. He, the most powerful man in Chicago, was standing there being humiliated by a third-rate manager and could not do anything.
But that helplessness showed him something more valuable.
During the break, Scarlet shared half her sandwich with him.
“I don’t need it,” Vincent said.
“You do,” she replied. “You didn’t eat breakfast. I saw. And the afternoon is long, trust me. You won’t survive a day here without energy.”
Vincent took the sandwich and looked at her. It was just a cheap sandwich, but to him it was worth more than any lavish banquet he had ever attended, because it was shared by someone who had almost nothing and still chose to give.
They sat in the kitchen corner eating in silence. Scarlet talked about her younger sister, Lily, 16 years old, in her final year of high school and dreaming of going to college. Scarlet spoke about wanting Lily to have a better life, not to struggle the way she had.
Vincent listened, his heart aching with every word.
“What about you?” Scarlet asked. “Do you have family?”
Vincent was silent for a moment.
“No,” he said. “No one left.”
Scarlet looked at him, her green eyes softening.
“I know that feeling,” she said gently. “Sometimes loneliness is the hardest thing to endure.”
They looked at each other, and in that moment, Vincent felt an invisible thread connecting them. Both were carrying burdens the world could not see. Both were trying to survive each day.
The only difference was that he had chosen his burden, and she had not.
One week passed, and Vincent had begun to grow accustomed to the rhythm of Magnolia Bistro. He learned how to carry trays without spilling, memorized the table numbers, and, most importantly, learned how to avoid Tony when he was in one of his rages.
But he was not there just to be a waiter.
He watched. He listened. He remembered every smallest detail.
What he discovered made his blood boil.
It started one late evening when Vincent volunteered to stay behind and clean up. Most of the staff had gone home, and only Tony was left in the back office. Vincent pretended to mop the floor near the office door, his ears straining to listen.
Tony’s voice came through the half-open door.
“Yes, yes, this month, $300,000. I’ve cleaned it all already. Mr. Castellano can rest assured.”
Vincent froze, his hand tightening on the mop.
Castellano.
The name cut into him like a knife. Dante Castellano, the boss of the rival family. The man who had tried to kill him 3 times in the past 5 years. The man Vincent had sworn to wipe out completely.
And now he discovered that Castellano’s hunting dog was sitting inside his own restaurant.
Tony went on.
“No one suspects a thing. The real owner never comes here anyway. He only looks at the reports, and I control all the reports. Easy as candy.”
A sharp laugh followed, and then the call ended.
Vincent stepped back and hid in the shadows. He understood everything. Tony was not just a bad manager. He was a spy, a traitor. He was using Vincent’s restaurant to launder money for his enemy right under his nose.
Over the following days, Vincent quietly gathered evidence. He slipped into the office when Tony was gone and photographed the ledger pages. The numbers did not match. Reported revenue was 2 or even 3 times higher than reality. Fake invoices for parties that never happened. Phantom supply orders. Expenses that did not exist.
All of it was carefully fabricated.
But what enraged Vincent most was the discovery that Tony was forcing the staff into this dirty game.
One afternoon, he overheard Tony call Rosa, the gentle 50-year-old head cook, into the office.
“Sign here,” Tony ordered.
“But Mr. Russo, this is a seafood invoice for $50,000. We never bought that much.”
“Shut up and sign, or do you want to lose your job? Do you know that no one hires old women?”
There was a long silence, then the sound of a pen signing paper.
Vincent clenched his fist so hard his nails cut into his palm. Rosa, the kind woman who secretly gave him extra food every lunch because she thought he was thin, was being forced into criminal activity.
And she was not the only one.
Vincent noticed the other staff showed the same signs. They were more afraid than normal. They avoided each other’s eyes when Tony summoned them to the office. They signed papers they were not allowed to read. All of them were hostages in Tony’s game, trapped by the fear of losing their jobs, their only source of income to feed their families.
One night, Vincent called Marco from the alley behind the restaurant. He told him everything he had discovered, his voice cold as ice.
“Tony Russo is Castellano’s man. He’s laundering money inside my restaurant.”
“How much?” Marco asked, his voice tight.
“By my calculations, at least $3 million over the past 8 months. And he’s forcing the staff to sign fake invoices as cover.”
Marco swore.
“I’ll send people to take care of him tonight.”
“No,” Vincent cut in. “Not yet. If we kill Tony now, Castellano will know we found out. He’ll cut all contact, and we’ll lose the trail. I need more time. I need to know who else Tony is connected to, what other lines there are.”
“Boss,” Marco said worriedly, “you’re playing with fire. The longer you stay there, the more dangerous it gets.”
Vincent looked toward the back door of the restaurant, where Scarlet was stepping out after her shift, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
“I know,” he said. “But some things are more important than my safety.”
Marco was silent for a moment.
“The girl?”
Vincent did not answer, but his silence was the answer.
“I understand,” Marco sighed. “But boss, be careful. Castellano isn’t a fool. If he finds out you’re there, he won’t miss the chance. And if he knows you care about someone, that person becomes a target.”
Vincent watched Scarlet’s figure fade into the night. He knew Marco was right. He was pulling Scarlet into a dangerous world without her knowing it.
But he could not stop.
Not now. Not while she was still there, trapped under Tony’s control, crushed by a harsh life.
He would deal with Tony. He would destroy Castellano. And he would protect Scarlet whether she knew it or not.
But first, he had to wait.
And in Vincent Moretti’s world, waiting was sometimes harder than killing.
Everything happened on a Friday night when the restaurant was packed and everyone was so busy that no one noticed anyone else. Tony sent Scarlet to fetch more napkins from the storage in the back, a shortcut that went through the narrow alley beside the restaurant.
She was hurrying along when the sound of voices from the corner of the alley made her stop.
“This is this month’s share,” Tony’s voice said. “$200,000 in cash. Tell Mr. Castellano everything is running smoothly.”
Scarlet pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding. She had not meant to eavesdrop, but her feet felt nailed to the ground.
Through the gap between the trash bins, she saw Tony handing a black briefcase to a man in a leather jacket. The man opened it, quickly counted the stacks of money inside, and nodded in satisfaction.
“Very good, Russo. The boss is very pleased with your work. Keep it up, and you’ll be rewarded well.”
Tony grinned, the smile of a man betraying without a trace of regret.
Scarlet took a step back, about to leave quickly. But her foot kicked an empty soda can. The clatter rang out in the quiet night like an alarm bell.
“Someone’s there,” the man in the leather jacket barked, already drawing his gun.
Tony spun around and caught sight of Scarlet trying to run. His eyes flared with fury.
“Hayes.”
Scarlet ran, her heart threatening to burst. She ran around to the back door, rushed into the crowded restaurant, and tried to melt into the crowd. But she knew Tony had seen her. He knew she had witnessed everything.
Half an hour later, as Scarlet was trembling while carrying a tray of drinks, Tony appeared beside her. He did not shout. He did not yell.
He only whispered into her ear, his voice cold as ice.
“Come to my office. Now.”
Scarlet wanted to refuse. She wanted to run. But Tony’s eyes told her that running would only make things worse. She set the tray down and followed him, her legs feeling like cotton.
In the office, Tony closed the door and turned to her.
“What did you see out there?”
“I didn’t see anything,” Scarlet said, trying to keep her voice calm while panic screamed inside her. “I was just getting napkins.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Tony snarled, stepping close to her face. “I saw you standing there. I saw you run. You think I’m stupid?”
Scarlet swallowed, her body trembling.
“I swear I didn’t see anything. I only heard voices, and I got scared, so I ran. I don’t know anything.”
Tony stared at her for a long moment, his narrow eyes trying to read whether she was telling the truth. Then he sneered, a smile without warmth.
“All right. I’ll believe you, once. But listen carefully, girl. If you dare say one word about what you saw or didn’t see to anyone, including that Jack you like to talk to, then not only you, but your mother in the hospital and your pretty little sister will have trouble. Do you understand?”
Scarlet felt the blood in her veins freeze.
He knew about her mother.
He knew about Lily.
“I understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Tony nodded in satisfaction.
“Good. Now get out there and work. And remember, I have eyes everywhere.”
Scarlet left the office, her legs almost giving out. She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and cried without a sound. She did not know what she had stumbled into, but she knew it was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Vincent saw Scarlet come out of Tony’s office, her face white as paper. He saw her rush into the bathroom and knew something had happened, but he could not ask. Not now.
That night, when Scarlet left the restaurant, Vincent followed quietly. He kept his distance, hiding in the shadows.
Then he realized he was not the only one watching her.
A man in a black jacket was following Scarlet from behind, about 50 meters away. He moved professionally, his steps light, his eyes never leaving his target.
This was not a loan shark.
This was Tony’s man, or worse, Castellano’s.
Vincent felt rage rise in his chest. The mafia boss’s instincts surged awake. He sped up, moving through dark alleys he had memorized on the nights he had followed Scarlet before. He cut ahead, circled around, and waited.
The tail stepped into the dark alley, his eyes still fixed on Scarlet’s distant figure. He did not notice the shadow moving in from behind until it was too late.
Vincent struck fast. A blow to the back of the neck made the man stagger. Before he could react, Vincent locked his arm around his throat and squeezed until he went unconscious. He searched the man’s pockets and found a gun, a knife, and a phone.
On the phone was a message from an unknown number.
Follow the girl Hayes. Report all movements. If she contacts anyone suspicious, deal with it.
Vincent deleted the message, smashed the phone, then dragged the unconscious man into a dark corner of the alley.
He called Marco.
“Come to the alley between Oak Street and 7th Street. There’s a package that needs to be cleaned up.”
“On my way,” Marco replied. “Did he say anything?”
“Not yet, but he will.”
Vincent looked toward Scarlet stepping into her building, safe and unaware of what had just happened.
“And Marco,” he added, “increase protection 24/7. No one gets near her.”
“Understood, boss.”
Vincent stood in the shadows watching Scarlet’s window until the light came on, then went out. She was safely home. He let out a long breath, but his heart was still pounding.
Tonight, he had protected her without her knowing.
But he knew this was only the beginning.
Tony had made his move, and Castellano would not stop. A war was coming, and Scarlet Hayes, whether she wanted it or not, was already at the center of the storm.
In the days after what happened with Tony, Scarlet changed. She became quieter. Her smile appeared less often. Her eyes always held a hint of worry whenever she glanced toward the office door.
Vincent noticed, and he began to stay close to her in the most subtle ways. He volunteered for extra hours whenever she worked late. He arranged to be assigned to tables near her section. He watched her when she was not looking, making sure she was all right.
Slowly, those small moments became a habit neither of them spoke about, but both understood.
One night after the restaurant closed, Scarlet sat alone at the corner table, her head bowed, her shoulders trembling. Vincent walked over and sat across from her without a word.
She looked up, her eyes red.
“You’re not going home.”
“Not yet,” he said gently. “You’re not either.”
Scarlet gave a sad smile and wiped her tears quickly.
“I just need a minute. Some days everything is too much, you know?”
“I know,” Vincent said, his voice softer than ever. “Tell me about it, if you want.”
Scarlet looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether she could trust him. Then she sighed and began to speak.
“My mother,” she said, her voice catching. “The doctors say she doesn’t have much time left. Maybe a few months. Maybe a few weeks. They’re not sure. Every day I go to the hospital, I’m afraid it will be the last time I see her.”
Vincent was silent, his heart aching. He remembered the image of Scarlet by her mother’s bed, trying to smile while her world was falling apart.
“And the worst part,” Scarlet continued, “is that I can’t do anything. I don’t have money for better treatments. I can only watch her slowly fade away and pretend everything will be all right. Every night I go home, I have to smile at Lily, tell her Mom will get better, but I know it’s a lie, and I hate myself for that.”
She stopped, tears running down her cheeks.
Vincent reached out, hesitated for a second, then gently took her hand. Her hand was cold and small in his.
“You’re not lying,” he said. “You’re protecting your sister. That’s what people who love each other do.”
Scarlet looked at his hand holding hers, but she did not pull away.
“What about you?” she asked softly. “Do you have family? You once said you have no one left.”
Vincent was quiet, his eyes darkening. It had been a long time since he had spoken of this to anyone. But looking at Scarlet, at the trust in her green eyes, he felt like sharing.
“At least a part. My mother died when I was 12,” he said, his voice low and distant. “She was the only one who truly loved me. She taught me how to cook, how to read, how to look at the world with curiosity instead of fear. Then one day, she was gone, and I lost everything.”
Scarlet squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry. That must have been so painful for a child.”
Vincent nodded, but he did not tell the rest. He did not say that his father had killed his mother in a drunken rage, that he had witnessed it all through the crack of a closet door, that he had sworn revenge and carried it out 10 years later.
Those things were too dark, too brutal to speak aloud.
He did not want Scarlet to look at him with fear.
“What did you do after that?” Scarlet asked. “How did you survive?”
Vincent looked at her, a sad smile touching his lips.
“I learned how to become strong. I built everything from nothing. I told myself I’d never let anyone hurt me again.”
He paused and looked into her eyes.
“But sometimes strength also means loneliness.”
Scarlet nodded as if she understood exactly what he meant.
They sat there in silence for a long time, their hands still joined, neither wanting to be the first to let go.
Finally, Scarlet smiled, the first smile in days that truly reached her eyes.
“Thank you, Jack. Thank you for listening to me. I don’t know why, but when I’m with you, everything feels a little lighter.”
Vincent felt his heart stumble. She called him Jack, the false name, the unreal identity, and it hurt because he was lying to her every day.
“Let me walk you home,” he said, standing up. “It’s late.”
Scarlet shook her head.
“You don’t have to. I’m used to walking alone.”
“I know,” Vincent said. “But you don’t have to be alone tonight.”
They left the restaurant together and walked through the late Chicago night. Scarlet talked about Lily, about her dream of going to college, about how she would do anything to give her sister a better future.
Vincent listened, sometimes asking questions, sometimes just walking beside her.
When they reached Scarlet’s building, she turned to him.
“You know something, Jack?” she said. “You’re different from the men I’ve known.”
“Different how?” he asked carefully.
Scarlet tilted her head, thinking.
“I don’t know. You seem like you’re hiding something. Something big. But at the same time, you’re the most honest person I know. It’s strange, isn’t it?”
Vincent did not answer.
He could not.
Because she was right.
He was hiding everything, and the honesty she felt was the only thing he was not pretending.
“Good night, Scarlet,” he said instead.
“Good night, Jack.”
She smiled once more and went inside.
Vincent stood there watching until she was gone. In his chest, something was changing, something warm and frightening at the same time.
He was falling in love.
And that was the most dangerous thing Vincent Moretti had ever done.
Three days after that night, everything collapsed.
Vincent was serving tables at lunch when Scarlet’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and her face went pale in an instant. She dropped the tray she was holding, plates and glasses shattering on the floor, but she did not notice. She just stood there trembling, one hand pressed to her ear.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I understand. I’m coming right away.”
She hung up, her eyes empty as if her soul had left her body.
Vincent stepped to her immediately.
“Scarlet, what happened?”
“My mother,” she whispered, her voice almost gone. “My mother fainted. The hospital called. She’s in the emergency room. I have to go. I have to go now.”
She turned to run, but her legs buckled. Vincent caught her in time.
“Let me take you. You can’t drive like this.”
Tony appeared behind them, his face flushed red.
“Where do you think you’re going, Hayes? Your shift isn’t over. You think you can leave whenever you want?”
Vincent turned, his eyes cold as ice.
“Her mother is in the emergency room. She needs to go.”
Tony snarled.
“I don’t care. If she walks out that door, she’s fired.”
Vincent stepped close to Tony’s face, his voice low and dangerous.
“She’s going. And if you fire her for this, you’ll regret it.”
May you like
Something in Vincent’s eyes made Tony step back. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, turned away, and muttered to himself.
Vincent took Scarlet’s hand and led her outside. He called a taxi because he could not let her see Marco’s car parked nearby. On the ride to the hospital, Scarlet sat in silence, staring out the window but not really seeing anything. Her lips moved as if in prayer. Vincent sat beside her, saying nothing, just holding her hand tightly.
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