PART 2: The Mafia Boss Refused to Pick a Woman—Until His Dog Lay Down at a Poor Waitress's Feet

The formal dining hall at Blackwood Manor looked like something out of a Gothic tragedy.

A mahogany table long enough to seat twenty people stretched down the center of the room, illuminated by the flickering amber light of massive wrought-iron chandeliers. At the head of the table sat Kendrick Ashford, cutting a piece of rare steak with cold, methodical precision.

To his right sat Penny, happily spooning soup with a small silver spoon, while Titan lay curled like a furry mountain beneath her chair.

When Willa entered the room—wearing a simple, elegant dark emerald silk dress that Mrs. Higgins had selected—every conversation at the table abruptly died.

Barrett, seated midway down the table alongside three other high-ranking syndicate capos, glared at her with undisguised hatred.

Kendrick looked up. For a fraction of a second, his dark eyes scanned her appearance, a flicker of appreciation crossing his features before returning to their usual impenetrable mask.

"You clean up well, waitress," Barrett sneered, swirling the red wine in his glass. "Though I suppose putting silk on a stray cat doesn't make it royalty."

Willa didn't flinch. She pulled out the chair directly across from Barrett—ignoring the empty seat right next to Kendrick—and sat down with casual grace.

"And putting a suit on a rabid dog doesn't make him a gentleman, Barrett," Willa replied smoothly, her voice carrying clearly down the silent hall. "Though I suppose pedigree is hard to maintain when you spend your life barking at everyone who enters the room."

A muffled cough of surprise came from one of the capos down the table.

Barrett’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. He slammed his wine glass down onto the wood, wine sloshing over the rim. "You ungrateful little bitch—"

"Enough, Barrett," Kendrick’s voice cut through the room like a razor blade. It wasn't loud, but it carried an absolute, crushing weight that instantly froze the advisor in place.

Kendrick set his knife and fork down, his dark gaze locking onto Barrett. "Miss Hayes is an honored guest in this house. If I hear you disrespect her again, your next assignment will be cleaning the harbor floor with your teeth. Do we understand each other?"

Barrett swallowed hard, his jaw working furiously as he forced out a stiff nod. "Yes, Boss."

Willa felt a strange, complicated twinge in her chest. She had expected Kendrick to reprimand her, to put her in her place to maintain the syndicate's rigid hierarchy. Instead, he had publicly humiliated his senior advisor to defend an unknown waitress.

Why? she thought, narrowing her eyes at him. What game are you playing, Kendrick?

Penny suddenly slid her bowl of soup across the table toward Willa, pointing a small finger at it and offering a tiny, tentative smile.

Willa’s heart melted just a fraction. She smiled back, taking a small sip from the bowl. "Thank you, sweetie. It's delicious."

For the rest of the meal, the tension remained thick enough to cut with a knife, but no one dared speak.