Everyone Froze When She Spilled Water on the Mafia Boss

All movement around the table ceased.

The clink of chips stopped. The sound of heavy breathing from the air vents suddenly felt far too loud.

Roman did not look at Donovan immediately. He finished stacking three black chips, squaring the edges with the pad of his thumb. Then, very slowly, he raised his eyes.

The silence in the room became absolute.

“Donovan,” Roman said. His voice was quiet, but it possessed a weight that made the air feel heavy. “Let go of her arm.”

Donovan squinted across the table, his bloodshot face flushed. “Oh, come on, Gallow. Just having a little fun with the help. You’re always so stiff—ah!”

A wet, sickening crunch echoed through the room.

Luca had moved with a speed that defied his heavy build. He crossed the space between the bar and the table, grabbed Donovan’s thick wrist, and twisted it outward. The glass slipped from Donovan’s fingers, shattering against the Persian rug.

Donovan howled, his weight shifting violently as he tried to stand. “What the hell! Are you insane?!”

“She is not ‘the help,’” Roman said, his tone still terrifyingly calm. He stood up from his chair, buttoning his cuffs with deliberate care. “She is a contractor. And she is working off a debt incurred on my property. That makes her under my protection while she is in this house.”

Donovan yanked his arm free, clutching his wrist and backing away from the table. He glared at Paige, then at Roman, his chest heaving. “You’re breaking balls over a waitress? This whole operation is a joke. I’m out.”

He threw his remaining chips into the center of the pot, snatched his suit jacket from the back of his chair, and stormed toward the double doors, slamming them behind him with a crash that rattled the chandelier.

The remaining three men at the table stared down at their cards, suddenly finding the green felt deeply fascinating. None of them dared look at Roman.

“Game’s over,” Roman announced, pulling a heavy silver pocket watch from his vest and clicking it open. “Gentlemen. My car is waiting outside.”

Within two minutes, the room was empty except for Roman, Luca, and Paige.

Paige stood against the corner of the wet bar, her right hand cradling her injured wrist. The pain was radiating up her forearm in hot, stabbing waves. She felt sick to her stomach, not just from the pain, but from the realization of how easily things could have gone wrong.

“Sit down, Paige,” Roman said, gesturing toward one of the leather armchairs near the unlit fireplace.

“I need to clean up the glass,” she whispered.

“Luca will handle the glass,” Roman replied, walking over to the bar. He poured two fingers of amber liquid—not Macallan this time, but clear water—and added ice. He brought the glass over and set it on the small table beside her. “Drink this.”

Paige sat down, her legs finally giving out. She stared at the glass of water, then up at Roman.

“Why did you do that?”

“Which part? Saving my suit, or stopping Donovan from breaking your wrist?”

“Both.”

Roman pulled up a chair and sat opposite her, resting his elbows on his knees. Up close, the lines around his eyes looked deeper than they had in the restaurant. He looked tired. Not the tired of a man who worked late at an office, but the tired of a man who carried a city on his back and hadn't set it down in a decade.

“Donovan is an idiot,” Roman said simply. “He thinks because my father and brothers are gone, the Gallow family is weak. He tests boundaries. Breaking your wrist in my house would have been a message to the others that my authority is slipping.”

“So I was just a prop?” Paige asked, a flash of defensive pride overriding her pain. “A convenient excuse to put him in his place?”

Roman studied her for a long moment. His dark eyes didn't blink.

“If I wanted to put Donovan in his place, I could have broken his neck without standing up,” Roman said quietly. “You were a guest in my house. You were asked to work off a debt, not be assaulted by my associates. There is a ledger, Paige. And violence outside the ledger is bad for business.”

“You talk about ledgers a lot.”

“My father taught me that everything in this city has a price. Loyalty, betrayal, a broken vase, a tailored suit. If you don't balance the books, the whole system collapses.”

Paige looked down at her lap. Her hands were shaking. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving behind a cold, hollow shiver.

“I don't have six thousand dollars, Roman,” she said, using his first name for the first time. It felt strange on her tongue, heavy and sharp. “Even if I work every shift at the Onyx Room until I’m eighty, I won't be able to pay for that suit.”

“I know.”

“Then why keep me around? Why not just... I don't know. Have Luca throw me in the river?”

Roman let out a dry, humorless breath that was almost a chuckle.

“The river is messy. And bodies attract federal attention.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “Besides, you’re an auditor.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“Arthur mentioned it when he was panicking in the restaurant. He said you were the one who caught the discrepancies in the payroll system last month before he had to sign off on the tax filings.”

Paige’s mind raced back. Last month, she had noticed a systematic rounding error in the waitstaff tip pooling—a discrepancy of about four thousand dollars over six months that Arthur had been quietly skimming to pay off his gambling debts. She had threatened to go to corporate unless he fixed it. He fixed it the next day.

“Arthur talks too much.”

“Arthur is a coward,” Roman corrected. “And my family’s logistics network has three shell companies currently leaking cash because the regional managers don't know the difference between a balance sheet and a grocery list.”

Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold fountain pen, sliding it across the table alongside a small, leather-bound notebook.

“Here is what is going to happen, Paige. You are going to come here every Tuesday and Thursday evening for the next three months. You are going to review my shipping manifests, audit the subsidiary ledgers, and find out where my accountants are stealing from me.”

Paige stared at the notebook, then up at him.