Everyone Failed to Make the Mafia Boss Eat—Until the Quiet Waitress Placed His Mother’s Favorite Dish Before Him

The private wing of Gabriel’s penthouse on the forty-second floor did not look like a mobster’s lair. It looked like a fortress disguised as a luxury hotel.

Norah stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the rain wash over the skyline. It had been forty-eight hours since she was taken from Benny’s Diner.

True to his word, Gabriel hadn't harmed her. In fact, he had treated her with a strange, intense deference. She had been given a suite larger than her entire family home, a closet filled with clothes that still had the tags on them, and a brand-new laptop so she could continue her online nursing coursework.

However, she was not allowed to leave without an escort.

A soft knock sounded at the door before it swung open. Gabriel walked in, wearing a tailored charcoal suit. The hollows of his cheeks were filling out; the terrifying air of a dying man had been replaced by the quiet, dangerous confidence of a man in full control.

Behind him, Leo carried a large stainless-steel prep table and a locked refrigeration unit.

"What is this?" Norah asked, turning around and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Your new kitchen," Gabriel said simply. "Downstairs, my executive kitchen has four chefs who earn six figures a year. One of them is paid by someone who wants me dead. Until I find out which one, I eat only what is prepared in this room, by your hands."

Norah let out a cynical laugh. "I’m a nursing student, Mr. Hayes. Not your personal cook."

"Five thousand dollars a day," Gabriel replied without missing a beat. "Paid directly into an offshore account in your name. Upon completion of two months, your student loans will be wiped clean, and you will receive a fully funded scholarship to any medical school in the country."

Norah blinked. The sheer magnitude of the offer made her breath catch. "And if I say no?"

Gabriel stepped closer. The faint scent of sandalwood and leather drifted from him. Up close, she noticed the thin white scar running from his left temple down to his jawline—a physical reminder of the brutal world he inhabited.

"If you say no, I will still protect you from my enemies, but you will stay in this room until the threat is eliminated," Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly honest. "I don't lie to you, Norah. I need you to survive. And right now, I am the only thing keeping you alive."

Norah looked at the steel prep table, then at Gabriel. She could see the dark circles still lingering beneath his eyes—the remnant of a deep-seated fear that no amount of bodyguards could fix. He was a monster to the city, but to her, he was still the paranoid boy whose mother had put cinnamon in his stew to make him feel safe.

"Unopened packages only," Norah stated sternly, setting her ground rules. "I inspect every seal myself. No one enters this room while I’m cooking. Not even Leo."

Gabriel’s eyes softened slightly. "Agreed."

"And one more thing," she added, stepping right into his personal space, refusing to be intimidated. "You tell me who killed Paulie. If I'm cooking in the middle of a war, I want to know who is shooting."