Chapter 85

Sergio drove down the roads, fingers tapping against the steering wheels, in tune with the beat coming from the car.

His head nodding to the sound of the music, he couldn't believe the happiness surging through him.

It was evident he was now Don's favorite man, and soon he could be next to Don as his second in command, replacing George.

He knew Don was still angry at George, and sometimes it was surprising how George was still alive even after letting Don's wife escape from his fingertips.

It would take a very long time for Don to forget the betrayal, and though it would never happen, he still couldn't sit down and watch George weave his way back into Don's favor again.

He would do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

Right now, he knew he only needed a situation to show the Don that he was all for him, ready to do his will and prepared to be entrusted with his trust and confidence.

But Don always had everything under control; he was a perfectionist who believed he could do everything himself, and since Donna left, it seemed to have worsened.

Thinking had claimed his attention so that for a moment, he couldn't see the road almost colliding with a truck that held iron rods pointing at his windshield.

So close he was to the verge of death if it wasn't for a quick decision of having to swirl the car to the side to avoid the collision with the heavy brown truck that had made a sudden stop.

Now at the side of the road, with his heart pounding in his chest from being this close to death, he placed his head against the windshield, his chest heaving.

His eyes widened as he took deep breaths.

He was this close to dying.

He turned his head to the side, staring at nothing in particular, and that was when he saw her, with a tray in hand, dressed in a white top and black pants, smiling down at a customer with a child.

He looked closely, wondering if he saw right—wasn't that Donna? He couldn't mistake that beautiful face for anyone else's, especially when she had once made him a liar in front of the Don.

The time he had told Don Damon she wasn't home, only for him to get into the room and see her in her robe, looking like she had always been there.

That was the worst day of his life—the day he lost Don's trust.

Still unsure of himself, he climbed down from the car, moving even closer until he was behind a vehicle, gawking intently.

Then she smiled, showing her perfect white teeth, causing the child to smile back.

That was her, alright! Did the good Lord suddenly listen to his prayers, giving him a quick reply? What other gift would he give Don that would be more valuable than helping him find his wife?

He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the first number on the call log.

The familiar, deep baritone came through.

"Sergio, we're at the airport already—where the fuck are you?!"

"Boss, I just saw your wife; I just saw Donna."

There was a pause, then a holler from the younger Don: "Stop the damn car!"

He heard the car screech to a sudden stop, and Don's breathless voice came back to the phone.

"Sergio, you were saying something."

"Sir, your wife, Maya Alfredo, was just seen working as a..."

His tone cut his assistant short. "My wife? Surround the area NOW!" 

*********

Her legs ached as she waited for almost half the tables at the restaurant, courtesy of her boss, who decided that would be her punishment for suddenly leaving work.

Though she had explained to him that she had to leave because her son was having a seizure, it fell on deaf ears.

He maintained his stand that she was supposed to ask permission no matter what, and breaking his plate before leaving was just uncalled for.

For him to reverse his decision to fire her, she had to seat almost half the tables in the restaurant.

She even begged him for an advance payment to pay Milo's hospital bills, but he turned her down. Was she the happiest when she returned to her son and found out the bill had already been paid?

The philanthropist did not leave a name. But she heard Milo whispering to his brothers about how cool he was.

The day was almost over anyway; it was four; once the clock struck six, she would leave this place—to her kids, her two days of punishment ending, and everything else normal.

Abby wasn't on leave today, so she had to pick up the kids from school. Six would be too late, but she knew they'd understand. 

The three of them understood her.

Abby was right; she was going to cut them some slack.

"Vittoria," she heard her name and went to the server, who handed her a tray and whispered, "table six."

She nodded, forcing a little smile, happy to move out of the heat-stuffed kitchen. She opened the kitchen door, making her way to table six.

Now there, she dropped the tray on the table, then, standing up, she pulled the jotter from her apron pocket, ticking table six.

"Are those tits real?" She suddenly heard.

Confusion wafted past her face; she dropped the notebook at her side, wondering where that came from.

Her eyes met the customer at the table she had just served, who was staring at her breasts with a sly smile on his face.

He had dark pupils, and with his office attire, she guessed he worked at the bank opposite the restaurant she worked in.

She frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'll appreciate it if you don't talk to me like that."

Instead, he placed his elbow on the table, cupping his face, and said, "Little bitch has some fire; I like my whores with fire."

She frowned, angry, and asked, "Is there anything else you need, sir? I want to go back to work."

He leaned forward, his voice low, and said, "How about a hundred-dollar bill to eat you?"

Disgust spread on her face.

Seeing it, he added, "Okay, three hundred."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Five hundred..."

"Please....." She could feel the heat on her face. It was usual for her to get catcalled as a waitress, but what wasn't expected was any of them being this abrupt and raw.

He leaned back on his chair and said, "Alright, whore, what's your price? Every woman has a price; name yours."

Unable to take it any longer, she grabbed his glass of juice and splashed it against his face, seeing him suddenly exhale as some went into his nose.

He pulled his hands down his face, swearing, "Fuck you, stupid bitch! Pardon me for trying to change your stupid life!

There were mutterings from other tables as they all watched the man struggle to open his eyes.

"Vittoria!" 

She suddenly heard her name. She stood still, waiting for her boss, knowing she was in deep trouble, but there was no way she would stand and watch the dog talk shit to her.

She felt his fingers wrap around her arm and turned to face him. "What did you do again, damnit?"

Though she knew it was futile, she tried explaining, "Sir Carlo, he was being rude to me; he called me a whore."

He went to another table, grabbed a pack of napkins, and helped the man with it. "I'm so sorry, sir."

The man pointed at her, angrily dabbing his face and body, "Get this bitch out of here before you lose all your customers!"

"Maybe if you don't go to restaurants and treat waitresses like trash, then you won't get drinks poured on your face," she retorted.

He leaned to grab her, but her boss stood between them, stopping the man from assaulting her.

"Sir, you don't need to waste your strength on a stupid waitress."

Maya's mouth dropped open. She was the one who was supposed to be offended here.

Sir Carlo turned to her and, in a firm voice, said, "You're fired, Vittoria; I'm tired of you."

Her eyes glowed, "Because I defended myself?"

He yelled at her, "Then maybe next time you consider what is at stake before pouring juice on a customer."

She pressed her lips together, turning to go, when another waitress suddenly came forward, handing her a piece of paper. "The customer at table three asked me to give this to you."

She frowned, reaching to collect it. If it were another offensive content, she would pour another juice on another person's head.

After all, she was fired; what's the worst that could happen?

Before she could get hold of it, her boss snatched it from the girl's hand, much to her dismay, and unfolded it.

."You can't run from me, Maya!" He looked up at her and asked, "Who is Maya?"

Her heartbeat stopped. 'you can't run from me, Maya,' rang in her ears, hoping who it sounded like.... wasn't who it was...

She snatched the paper from her boss, gawking at the writing in red marker glaring up at her.

You can't run from me, Maya!

At that moment, everything else disappeared; the voices sounded far away, her boss yelling at her, and the customer calling her a bitch.

He was here, and the air suddenly felt heavy. Here for her.

Table three!

She turned to see it, and she gasped immediately. She came face-to-face with the broad shoulders right in front of her.

As if not wanting it to be accurate, she raised her eyes slowly, and they suddenly met with his gray 

A choked voice came from her throat, "Maestro..."

He beamed at her, his fury written behind those turned-up lips. "Hello, Maya."