A Waitress Was the Only Person Who Understood My Terrified Daughter—Then She Revealed Someone Already Knew About Her Deadly Allergy.

Hannah’s heart slammed against her ribs.

The man at table six took a slow, deliberate sip from his small white espresso cup. His eyes never left the kitchen glass. In the soft golden light of the dining room, his blonde hair gleamed, and the thin white scar slicing through his right earlobe gave his handsome face a sinister, mocking edge.

"Don't react," Gabriel whispered, his hand coming to rest lightly on Hannah’s shoulder. His grip was broad, warm, and surprisingly grounding. "He wants you to scream. He wants a scene so he can slip out through the front crowd."

"He's sitting right there," Hannah murmured through clenched teeth. "Why didn't he run through the alley?"

"Because the alley door was a decoy," Gabriel replied coldly. "He threw Colin’s keycard and the note down to make us search outside while he sat inside, waiting to see if Lucia collapsed."

Gabriel stepped back from the glass and looked at his second bodyguard, Leo.

"Take him from behind," Gabriel instructed in a calm, flat tone. "No guns in the dining room. Zip-tie his wrists, bag his head, and drag him through the wine cellar into the underground garage. If a single diner notices, you're off payroll."

Leo gave a single, curt nod. He reached beneath his jacket, adjusted something at his waist, and slipped out through the side server pantry.

Hannah watched through the round window as Leo maneuvered smoothly through the tables, blending in like an upscale patron returning from the restroom.

Ten seconds later, Leo reached table six.

His large arm slid around the blonde man's collar in a sudden, lethal chokehold. With terrifying speed and total silence, Leo hoisted the man out of the booth. The blonde man didn't even get a chance to knock over his espresso cup. Before the elderly couple at the adjacent table even glanced up from their pasta, Leo had dragged the man through the dark curtain leading to the private wine cellar.

The corner booth was empty.

Hannah let out a long, shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Is it over?"

"That was just the courier," Gabriel said, his eyes darkening. "People like him don't work alone. Nicholas and Lucia are being escorted to the car right now."

He reached into his tailored slacks, pulled out a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills, and slapped it onto the metal prep counter in front of the stunned chef.

"That pays for our dinner and the damage," Gabriel said. Then he turned his gaze back to Hannah. "Come with us."

"Mr. Moretti, I can't just leave my job," Hannah protested, gesturing to her uniform. "I have rent to pay. I have a shift to finish."

"Your manager will fire you the second I walk out that door to cover his own incompetence," Gabriel said bluntly. "And the men who sent that blonde courier know you're the reason their plan failed. You step outside on that sidewalk alone tonight, Hannah, and you won't make it to your apartment."

Hannah looked back toward the dining room. Colin Harper was already glaring at her from behind the host stand, his face twisted in venomous resentment. Gabriel was right. Her job here was dead, and her safety was gone.

"What do you want from me?" Hannah asked.

"Lucia trusts you," Gabriel said, his deep voice softening with a father’s desperate sincerity. "She hasn't spoken a single word of English since we brought her back from Sicily last month. She's terrified of my men. She's terrified of me. But she held your hand."

He stepped closer, his imposing frame casting a protective shadow over her.

"I need an interpreter," Gabriel said. "And Lucia needs someone who can keep her alive. I'll pay you five times what this restaurant pays you in a year. Starting tonight."