The Waitress Is Actually A Mafia Queen

I spent 365 days scrubbing floors as a waitress to test if my fiancé was a King.

He thought I was just Blake, a poor girl with too many bills.

He didn't know I was the daughter of the Capo dei Capi, the true owner of the East Coast.

But it took only three seconds for him to fail the test.

His mistress, Jaden, marched into the restaurant wearing a dress too tight for a place where deals were made in whispers.

She treated me like a servant, throwing her keys at my chest.

When I refused to bow to her, she slapped a tray of boiling hot tea onto my hand.

The pain was blinding. My skin blistered instantly.

I waited for Connor to defend me. I waited for him to show honor.

Instead, he looked at his investors, panicked, and turned on me.

"Apologize, Blake!" he screamed, desperate to keep the peace. "Kneel if you have to! Just make her happy!"

He wanted a Queen to kneel to a mistress just to save his fragile ego.

He had no idea I was the one holding the deed to his entire territory.

I didn't kneel.

I dropped his phone into the deep fryer and watched it sizzle.

As my father's tactical team kicked down the doors, I untied my dirty apron.

"I'm not fired, Connor," I said, watching the blood drain from his face.

"I'm the landlord."

Chapter 1

I spent three hundred and sixty-five days scrubbing floors to see if the man I was promised to was a King, but it took only three seconds of him choosing a whore over his honor to prove he was just a peasant in a suit.

My phone vibrated against my hip, buzzing like an angry hornet trapped in the pocket of my cheap polyester apron.

I didn't even need to look at the screen to know who it was.

Connor.

The Acting Don of the Bishop family. My fiancé. The man who thought I was just Blake, the quiet waitress with no family and too many bills.

I pulled the device out.

Keep the peace, Blake. She's important to the business. Don't embarrass me.

I looked up from the screen as the heavy oak doors of The Velvet Lounge swung open.

The air in the room changed instantly. It usually smelled of old money, cigars, and the kind of silence that cost a thousand dollars an hour.

Now, it reeked of cheap vanilla perfume and entitlement.

Jaden Juarez walked in.

She wasn't wearing the required evening gown. Instead, she was wearing a red dress that was too short, too tight, and far too loud for a place where deals were made in whispers.

She wasn't just a mistress; she was a walking violation of the code.

I tightened the strings of my apron, the rough fabric digging into my waist.

Underneath this disguise, my blood was royal. My father was David Shaw, the Capo dei Capi. The man who owned