A feared mob boss terrified an elite Chicago restaurant by refusing a $160 steak, only for a broke waitress to realize what he really wanted.

The velvet curtain of the private booth pulled back smoothly.

Roman Vale stepped out into the main dining aisle of Bellanote, his black wool suit jacket draped over his arm, his white silk shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Behind him walked Hannah Mercer.

The entire restaurant floor fell into a quiet, respectful hush.

Marcus Greco immediately stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the room, while Martin Keller stood waiting near the service stand, holding his breath, terrified of what final judgment the crime boss was about to deliver.

Roman stopped in front of Keller.

He pulled a thick, leather-bound wallet from his inner suit pocket. Without counting, he extracted a heavy stack of hundred-dollar bills and laid them flat on the mahogany service stand beside the cash register—at least ten thousand dollars in crisp, uncirculated currency.

"This is for the table," Roman stated flatly, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet dining room. "And this is for the staff."

Keller stared at the stack of cash, then looked up at Roman in utter, stunned disbelief. "M-Mr. Vale... this is far too much... the steak wasn't even—"

"Hannah Mercer is resignation effective immediately," Roman interrupted coldly, his pale eyes cutting through the general manager. "She will not be working another shift at Bellanote. Is that understood?"

Keller bowed his head so hard his nose nearly touched his tie. "Understood, Mr. Vale! Absolutely understood!"

Roman turned toward Marcus Greco.

"Greco," Roman commanded softly.

"Yes, Boss?" Greco answered, stepping up to his side.

"Call Dr. Vance at Northwestern Memorial," Roman instructed, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Tell him the Vale Family Trust is assuming full financial responsibility for Leo Mercer's oncology trial. I want a private suite assigned to the boy by eight o'clock tomorrow morning, and I want the top pediatric specialists in the Midwest assigned to his team."

Greco’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't question his boss for a single second. He pulled out an encrypted mobile phone, nodding firmly. "It will be done within the hour, Boss."

Hannah stood beside the mahogany service stand, tears finally spilling over her lashes, tracing wet paths down her cheeks. She looked at Roman—the feared crime boss who had entered the restaurant as an intimidating ghost and was now saving her brother's life with a single phone call.

Roman turned his body to face her.

He reached out his large, warm hand, gently cupping her chin, his thumb wiping a tear away from her cheek with a tenderness that shocked every lieutenant standing in the room.

"Go home to your brother, Hannah," Roman whispered gently in Old Gorski. "I will see you on Sunday."