Owned By The Mafia Boss

　　Elisa's POV

　　The air in "Gulio" hung thick with the scent of garlic, cheap wine, and something else… something metallic and sharp that prickled at the back of my throat. It wasn't the blood yet, not literally, but the anticipation of it. Tonight, the menu featured Antonio Romano, served cold.

　　My disguise, a slightly stained apron over a simple black dress, felt like a second skin I couldn't wait to shed, and the cloying sweetness of the fake smile plastered on my face as I poured a glass of red wine for a group of boisterous men grated on my nerves.

　　They were likely connected, cogs in Romano's machine. And each forced "grazie" I had to say, felt like a lie I was desperate to stop uttering.

　　I'd been watching him for two hours, blending into the periphery of his opulent corner booth. Even from a distance, the aura of power radiating off him was palpable. Antonio Romano sat like a king on his throne, flanked by two hulking figures whose eyes scanned the room with predatory focus.

　　But Romano himself seemed relaxed, a half-empty glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand, his gaze occasionally flicking around but never lingering, as if he already knew everything he needed to know.

　　Little girl. That's what the manager of the restaurant had called me on the way in. "Just a server, cara. Invisible." They underestimated the hunger that gnawed at me, the years of training that had honed my senses to a razor's edge.

　　Which allowed me to see the subtle shift in his posture when a new face entered the restaurant, and the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when a waiter spilled a drop of wine too close to his expensive suit. He was a predator, always assessing, always in control.

　　My fingers brushed against the cool steel tucked on my thighs. The silenced pistol felt familiar, a comforting weight against my skin. Tonight, it will speak for me.

　　The moment I had been waiting for, finally arrived when Romano's guards' attention was momentarily diverted by a commotion near the entrance, a staged distraction, courtesy of my team. It was now or never.

　　I took a deep breath, the cloying restaurant air suddenly feeling heavy in my lungs. My steps were deliberate as I moved towards his table, a fresh bottle of water held in my trembling hand, a detail I hoped would appear innocuous.

　　"Signore Romano?" My voice was low, subservient, the practiced tone of a nervous server.

　　He looked up, his eyes dark and piercing, the color of a stormy sea. Even in the dim lighting, they seemed to dissect me, peeling back the layers of my disguise, as a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, but gone so quickly I almost doubted I'd seen it.

　　"Si?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with an undercurrent of authority that sent a shiver down my spine despite myself.

　　This close, the air around him crackled with an almost tangible danger. It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.

　　Instead of pouring the water, my hand moved with practiced speed. The pistol was in my grip, the silencer a dark extension of my palm, aimed directly at his chest.

　　The room seemed to fall silent, the boisterous chatter abruptly cut off. Romano's eyes widened, not in fear, but in something akin to… recognition?

　　But before I could squeeze the trigger, chaos erupted.

　　A deafening gunshot shattered the stillness, not from my weapon, but from somewhere behind me. A figure lunged towards Romano, a glint of steel flashing in their hand. Another assassin?

　　Confusion warred with adrenaline inside me. This wasn't part of the plan.

　　Romano reacted instantly, a speed that belied his relaxed posture moments before. He shoved his table forward, the heavy wood crashing against the approaching attacker, buying himself precious seconds. His guards, jolted into action, drew their own weapons.

　　The dimly lit restaurant transformed into a battlefield in a heartbeat. Gunshots echoed, shattering glass rained down, and screams pierced the air. My carefully laid plan had imploded, swallowed by a maelstrom of violence.

　　My cover was blown. There was no going back to playing the nervous server. My hand tightened on my own weapon. I needed to get out.

　　Bodies were hitting the floor, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the coppery tang of blood, which was now real, not just imagined. I moved swiftly, weaving through the panicked crowd, my senses on high alert. But I could feel eyes on me, the weight of Romano's gaze somewhere in the chaos.

　　A hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. it was one of Romano's guards, his face contorted in a snarl. I didn't hesitate. My elbow connected sharply with his jaw, and as he staggered back, I brought the butt of my pistol down on his temple. He crumpled to the floor.

　　The exit was my only focus. The back door, was the alleyway to freedom.

　　As I fought my way through the pandemonium, my eyes flickered back towards Romano's booth. He was standing now, amidst the carnage, his suit somehow still immaculate. He was watching the scene unfold, his expression unreadable.

　　And then, our eyes met. Across the smoky, blood-stained room, his gaze locked onto mine. There was no fear in his dark eyes, no surprise. Instead, a slow, deliberate smile spread across his lips. It wasn't a smile of amusement, but something colder, something predatory, something that promised a reckoning.

　　My blood ran cold. He knew. He knew I wasn't just a server. And that smile… it wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.

　　I turned and fled, the image of that chilling smile burned into my mind, the echoes of gunfire and screams chasing me into the night. My mission had failed spectacularly, my cover was shattered, and I had somehow, inexplicably, caught the attention of the very man I was sent to kill.

　　The way he looked at me… it wasn't like I was a threat he was going to neutralized. It was like I was a game he was now eager to play.