A Mafia Heiress Poured Ice Water Over the Waitress—Then Her Brother Asked for the Waitress’s Employment File

The mafia heiress emptied a glass of ice water down the front of my uniform.

I gasped as the freezing liquid soaked through my thin white shirt, the ice cubes clattering against the hardwood floor of the upscale dining room.

"Get on your knees and clean it up," Stella Perry demanded, her voice echoing in the sudden, suffocating silence of the restaurant.

Everyone was watching. The wealthy patrons who paid thousands for a single meal, my manager who looked like he was about to faint, and the teenage busser who was already trembling in the corner.

But I wasn't looking at them. I was looking at her brother.

Leandro Perry sat across the table, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit. He hadn’t spoken a single word since they arrived. He just sat there, nursing a cup of black coffee, watching me with eyes so dark they looked like endless voids. He was the most feared man in the city, the real power behind the Perry family name.

"Are you deaf?" Stella snapped, grabbing my wrist. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into my skin. "I told you to clean it."

I looked at her hand. It was shaking.

That was the moment everything clicked. Stella wasn't powerful. She was a scared little girl putting on a show, terrified that the world would realize her brother held all the cards.

I gently but firmly pulled my wrist from her grasp. I reached into my apron, pulled out a dry napkin, and set it next to her plate.

"I know exactly who you are," I whispered, leaning in so only she could hear. "Arthur Perry’s daughter. And Leandro Perry’s sister."

All the color drained from her face.

I untied my wet apron, dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the table to cover her untouched meal, and turned my back on the most dangerous family in the state.

"Leandro, do something!" Stella shrieked behind me.