Chapter 2 - The Viral Aftermath
By seven o'clock the next morning, my phone hadn't stopped buzzing. Notifications flashed across the screen like strobe lights—missed calls from high school acquaintances I hadn’t spoken to in years, frantic text messages from coworkers at Bellini’s, and direct messages on every social media platform imaginable.
The video of Vincent DeLuca stepping across an elite restaurant to kiss a disgraced, humiliated waitress had exploded across the internet overnight.
When I opened my laptop, the headlines screamed across tech blogs, gossip columns, and mainstream news outlets:
MYSTERY WAITRESS CONQUERS NEW YORK'S MOST FEARED MOB BOSS
IS VINCENT DELUCA'S PUBLIC DISPLAY A STUNT OR TRUE LOVE?
INSIDE BELLINI’S: HOW A CRUEL EX CREATED THE CITY'S NEWEST POWER COUPLE
I stared at the screen, a cup of lukewarm black coffee growing cold in my hands. My mother walked into the small kitchen, holding her tablet with a look of profound bewilderment.
"Emily," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she turned the screen toward me. "Is this... is this the nice man who had his driver take me to the hospital when I collapsed?"
My cheeks flushed crimson. "Mom, you knew about that?"
"Of course I knew," she replied, adjusting her reading glasses. "He waited at the hospital for three hours until the doctor said I was going to be fine. He even paid the co-pay when he thought I wasn't looking. And now he’s kissing you in front of the entire city?"
Before I could answer, a sharp, urgent knock banged against the apartment door.
My heart seized. I walked cautiously down the narrow hallway and pulled the door open a few inches, peering through the security chain.
Standing on the porch was Tyler.
He didn't look like the smug, triumphant man celebrating his engagement with Vanessa just twenty-four hours earlier. His hair was messy, his tie was crooked, and his face was twisted in a mask of furious, unadulterated rage.
"Open the door, Emily," Tyler hissed, slamming his palm against the wood. "I know you're in there."
"Go away, Tyler," I said firmly, keeping the chain locked. "If you don't leave right now, I'm calling the police."
"You think you're clever, don't you?" he sneered, pressing his face closer to the gap in the door. "Setting up some grand public stunt with a criminal just to humiliate me? Do you actually think a man like Vincent DeLuca wants a woman like you? He’s using you as a joke, Emily! A toy! The second he gets bored, he’ll throw you out on the street!"
"He's not a joke, and neither am I," I snapped, my fear momentarily giving way to a fierce, burning anger. "Now get off my porch before I find someone much more dangerous than a criminal to remove you."
Before Tyler could reply, the heavy rumble of a high-powered engine echoed up the street. A sleek black sedan pulled up directly behind Tyler's car, blocking it in. The rear door opened instantly, and two of Vincent’s heavily built bodyguards stepped out, their dark suits and cold expressions freezing Tyler in his tracks.
Tyler spun around, his eyes widening in sheer terror as Marcus, Vincent’s chief enforcer, walked up the steps.
Marcus didn't even look at Tyler. He simply knocked twice on the doorframe.
"Miss Emily," Marcus said, his voice entirely professional. "Mr. DeLuca requests your presence. He’s waiting in the car."
Tyler backed away from the porch, his hands raised defensively as the bodyguards cast cold, unblinking glances his way. Without another word, Tyler turned and sprinted back toward his car, scrambling inside and speeding away in a screech of tires.
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I looked through the open door at Marcus, then back at my mother, who was standing in the kitchen hallway with a remarkably approving smile.
"Go on, honey," my mother whispered, giving me a gentle nudge toward the door. "A man who waits for you with an entourage is a man worth talking to."
