A Waitress Took $10,000 to Kiss the Most Dangerous Mafia Boss at the Gala—Then He Learned She Was Saving Her Little Sister

Two months later, the annual Mayor’s Spring Charity Ball was held at the exact same hotel where Ava had first kissed Dante Salvatore.

This time, Ava didn't wear a rented polyester vest.

She wore a custom-tailored midnight-blue silk gown designed by an atelier in Milan, with a cascade of sapphires resting against her collarbone—a gift from Dante that carried enough historical provenance to make museum curators weep.

When Ava entered the grand ballroom on Dante Salvatore’s arm, the entire room went silent—not with the terror of a threat, but with the stunned, envious shock of recognition.

Standing near the bar, looking pale and broken in a faded red dress she had clearly worn before, was Celeste Vance. Her family’s real estate holdings had been systematically dismantled, audited, and foreclosed upon by Salvatore-backed shell corporations over the past sixty days.

Celeste stared at Ava with pure, unadulterated hatred. As Ava walked past, Celeste muttered loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear, “A street rat in a borrowed dress is still just trash.”

Ava didn’t even break her stride. She didn't flinch.

Before Ava could utter a word, Dante stopped walking. He turned slowly, his dark eyes fixing Celeste with a lethal, arctic chill that made the entire section of the room step back in terror.

“Miss Vance,” Dante’s baritone voice cut cleanly through the music. “In my world, trash is taken to the incinerator. If I ever hear your voice directed at my future wife again, your family won't just lose their townhouses. They’ll lose their names.”

The ballroom froze. Celeste burst into hysterical tears and bolted from the room for the second time in two months.

Ava looked up at Dante, her heart swelling with a fierce, burning pride. She reached out, looping her fingers through his arm.

“Future wife?” Ava teased lightly, raising an eyebrow.