The poor waitress noticed the red dot on the mafia boss’s chest and was the first to act

Mia approached carefully.

“Mineral water,” Nicolás ordered without even glancing at her. “And open the 1998 Barolo.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel didn’t turn. He stared out at the city like it owed him answers.

For the next hour, Mia moved invisibly—refilling glasses, clearing plates, blending into the background. But she listened. Not out of curiosity—out of instinct. Life had taught her how to read danger long before it arrived.