Chapter 2 - The Defiant Threat
Roman remained firmly seated in his heavy leather chair, entirely unfazed by the maid's dangerous defiance. He didn't immediately release his grip. He simply leaned back into the shadows of the VIP booth, exuding the terrifying, crushing aura of an untouchable apex predator. He calmly took another slow, deliberate drag of his expensive cigar, letting the thick gray smoke curl into the tense air between them.
"Relax," Roman replied smoothly, his deep, gravelly voice carrying an absolute, unquestionable authority that usually made grown men fall to their knees.
But Tessa wasn't a normal woman. She violently yanked herself free from his iron grip, stepping backward so fast her white lace apron fluttered. She didn't cower in fear. She didn't apologize for disrespecting a billionaire kingpin. Instead, she raised her hand, pointing her finger aggressively and directly into the terrifying billionaire's handsome face. She was physically shaking from the massive adrenaline dump, but her posture was absolutely, undeniably defiant.
"Touch me like that again, and I'll destroy what matters to you," Tessa stated. Her voice wasn't a hysterical shriek; it was firm, boiling with a quiet, restrained anger that echoed with lethal sincerity.
Standing in the shadows behind Roman, Grant—a massive, bald enforcer wearing a tailored dark suit and a black tie—glared at the waitress with pure, unfiltered malice. He perceived the threat against his boss as an immediate death sentence. Grant slowly reached his thick hand inside his suit jacket, his fingers securely wrapping around the grip of a heavy, suppressed weapon.
"Boss..." Grant issued a low, lethal warning, fully prepared to execute the waitress right there on the white marble floor.
Roman didn't even turn his head. He calmly raised two fingers in the air. Grant stopped instantly, freezing his hand inside his jacket like a loyal, disciplined soldier. Roman kept his pale, calculating eyes locked entirely on the shaking, beautiful waitress standing before him.
"What's your name?" Roman asked quietly, intrigued by the sheer titanium spine of the woman in the ridiculous brown uniform.
Tessa stood tall, gripping the edges of her white lace apron with white-knuckled intensity to hide her trembling hands. She refused to break eye contact.
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"Tessa," she replied, her voice remarkably steady. "Use it next time instead of your hands."
👉 Roman lowered his cigar, and a subtle, highly dangerous hint of respect completely changed the dynamic of the room.
