Chapter 2 - The Protector's Rage
Rising from the opposite side of the table was Silas.
The 35-year-old heavily muscular man was a terrifying force of nature. He wore a sharp beige suit jacket over a black shirt and black tie, his broad shoulders physically dominating the intimate space. Dark, intricate syndicate tattoos crawled up his neck and disappeared beneath his collar.
Silas was a feared, ruthless mafia enforcer in the city. But tonight, he wasn't there for business. He was there to treat his beloved aunt to a quiet dinner.
Silas stood up, his face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The cinematic realism of his intense anger instantly sucked the oxygen out of the surrounding tables.
He didn't yell immediately. He took one slow, heavy step around the table, placing his massive body entirely between his aunt and the arrogant waiter.
"Step back," Silas commanded. His voice was dangerously low, a lethal, vibrating growl that made the waiter physically flinch.
The waiter quickly backed away, his arrogant smirk instantly vanishing as he looked at the neck tattoos and the apocalyptic anger in Silas's eyes.
"I... I was just trying to get her order, sir," the waiter stammered defensively, shrinking under the intense glare.
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"You spoke to her like she was stupid," Silas growled aggressively, stepping even closer. "My aunt cannot hear you. You don't wave your hands in her face like a clown. You don't embarrass her in public."
👉 Silas was seconds away from completely dismantling the waiter, but a soft, unexpected voice suddenly interrupted the confrontation.
