Chapter 5 - The Showdown at the TavernBy 11:00 AM the following morning, the sun broke brightly over the South Boston harbor district.
A fleet of four black armored Maybachs pulled up to the front curb of the tavern where I worked.
The bar was packed with afternoon patrons, off-duty workers, and my former coworkers—including Sarah and the two male bartenders who had laughed at my expense twenty-four hours earlier.
The double front doors were thrown open by two armed operators.
Walking down the center aisle, wearing an exquisite, custom emerald-green silk dress that draped over her magnificent curves like liquid jewel, holding her head high, her posture royal and unshakeable, was me.
And walking directly beside my right shoulder, wearing a dark tailored suit, his broad hand anchored securely around my waist, radiating a terrifying, sovereign authority, was Adrian Moretti.
The entire tavern went dead, breathless silent. Beer glasses froze mid-air.
Sarah dropped her tray. CRASH!
The glass shattered across the floor, but no one looked down. Everyone stared in absolute, horror-stricken shock at the woman they had mocked, standing beside the king of the city.
Adrian stopped near the center table where the five hundred-dollar dare had taken place.
He didn't draw a weapon. He stood tall, his towering six-foot-three frame casting an absolute shadow over the room.
"Which of you," Adrian spoke, his baritone carrying cleanly across the silent tavern, "offered my wife five hundred dollars to kiss a stranger?"
My breath hitched in my throat at the word wife, a sweet, blinding heat spreading through my entire body.
The two male coworkers who had initiated the dare turned paper-white, their knees shaking so violently they had to grab the edge of the table to keep from collapsing.
"Don... Don Moretti...!" one of them stammered, tears of pure terror welling in his eyes. "We... we didn't know! It was just a joke! We were just having fun!"
Adrian pulled a thick leather file from his coat, tossing it flat onto the wooden table between them.
"As of ten o'clock this morning," Adrian revealed deadpan, "the Moretti Trust has acquired the commercial land lease for this entire block. Your employment is permanently terminated. And if either of you ever steps foot inside South Boston again... my operators will ensure you learn what real humor looks like."
The two men scrambled out through the rear doors in groveling, weeping panic, abandoning their coats and belongings entirely.
Adrian turned to Jimmy, the bartender who had tried to warn me.
May you like
"Jimmy," Adrian acknowledged smoothly. "You showed concern for Miss Bellamy when no one else did. You are now the general manager of this establishment, with a triple salary funded by the Moretti Foundation."
Jimmy's jaw sagged open in utter shock as he bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Don Moretti! Thank you, Donna Mara!"
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