A Poor Waitress Defended an Elderly Woman—Unaware She Was the Mafia Boss's Mother

The rain slammed against the bus shelter. Delphine clutched the gold coin, her heart hammering against her ribs.

How did Victor Castellano know her name? And why would a powerful man be looking for a cheap notebook she bought at a dollar store?

Ten minutes later, a sleek, black armored SUV pulled up to the curb.

The back door opened. Sitting inside was Victor Castellano.

He was in his late thirties, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than Delphine made in a year. His dark eyes locked onto hers. He exuded a dangerous, quiet authority.

“Get in,” he said.

Delphine hesitated, but the freezing rain and the memory of Camille’s terrified face pushed her forward. She climbed in.

“My mother is safe?” Victor asked immediately.

“Yes. She stayed at the bakery.”

Victor nodded to his driver. “Lock down the block. Nobody leaves that bakery.”

He turned back to Delphine. “You said Camille took the notebook. Describe it to me.”

“It’s just a spiral notebook,” Delphine said, shivering as the car’s heat blasted over her. “I used it to track my tips. Camille has been skimming from the staff for months.”

“I don't care about your tips,” Victor said flatly. “Where did you get the notebook?”

“From my mother’s things,” Delphine said, defensive. “She died four years ago. I found a box of her old home-health nursing supplies last month. It was blank, so I started using it.”

Victor reached into his tailored jacket. He pulled out a photograph and handed it to her.

It was a picture of Delphine’s mother, younger, smiling. But she wasn't wearing scrubs. She was standing in front of a massive, heavily guarded estate, holding a ledger.

“Your mother wasn't just a nurse,” Victor said softly. “Before you were born, she was the chief accountant for the Castellano family. She hid millions of dollars for my father in offshore accounts. When my father was murdered three years ago, the master ledger vanished.”

Delphine stared at the photo. Her mother? An accountant for the mafia?

Answer one: The notebook wasn't blank. Delphine had been writing her tip records over the invisible ink of a mafia master ledger.

Open two: If Camille recognized the notebook, who is Camille really working for? And how did she know what it was?

“Camille saw the watermark on the pages,” Victor continued, his jaw tightening. “She recognized it. Because Camille isn't just a bakery manager. She’s the woman who helped launder my father’s stolen money.”

Delphine felt sick. “She fired me to get the book.”

“She fired you because you just handed her the key to a hundred-million-dollar empire,” Victor said.

The SUV screeched to a halt outside the bakery.

Victor’s men swarmed the entrance, but as Victor and Delphine stepped out of the car, the bakery doors swung open.

Elise, the young cashier, ran out, sobbing hysterically.

“She’s gone!” Elise cried. “Camille went out the back door!”

Victor cursed, pulling his phone. “Track her car.”

Delphine’s phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket.

It was Posie’s elementary school.

Delphine answered, her hands shaking. “Hello?”

“Ms. Hale,” the school nurse said. “I’m calling about Posie. She had a mild asthma attack during recess.”

“I’m coming right now,” Delphine panicked. “Where is she?”

“Oh, you don't need to come,” the nurse said cheerfully. “Her aunt Camille already picked her up ten minutes ago. She said she had her backup inhaler.”

Delphine dropped her phone. It shattered on the wet pavement.

Victor caught her arms before she collapsed.

“She has my daughter,” Delphine screamed, clawing at Victor’s coat. “Camille took Posie!”

Victor’s eyes turned entirely merciless. He looked at his men.

“Burn the city down,” Victor ordered. “Find the girl.”

Then, a black sedan sped past the bakery, splashing water onto the curb.

A single object was thrown from the window, landing at Delphine’s feet.