Vincenzo Moretti—feared in the underworld, whispered about in boardrooms, and known in the shadows as The Viper. No one knew what made him so ruthless. No one dared ask. They only knew what he wanted them to know: power, dominance, and silence.
But behind the ice in his eyes once lived a man who laughed easily and loved harder. A man who used to smile without thinking. That man died the day his wife did.
Her death wasn't just a tragedy—it was a stain on his soul. He still blamed himself. It should've been him. Him! What kind of fool lets a prisoner walk free?
He remembered the moment he got the call. The vengeance he thought he had avoided came home for him—only he wasn't there. Instead, his wife paid the price. His only mercy? His daughter was with him that day.
He never smiled again.
That was the day The Viper was born.
And it's why he didn't tolerate disrespect—not from his enemies, and certainly not from some insolent waitress with too much attitude.
"Run a full background check on her. Everything. I want it on my desk before I get to the office," Vincenzo ordered coolly, sliding into his brand-new black Audi RS7. His voice was calm, but Luca could hear the venom underneath.
"Yes, boss," Luca replied, starting the engine. As they pulled away from the curb, Vincenzo's mind was already plotting.
She would learn what it meant to challenge a man like him.
> ">">">">">"
Back at the diner, Sofia stood in front of Mr. Garvey, her posture tense, regret shadowing her features.
"What was that stunt you pulled out there?" Garvey asked, arms folded, tone stern.
"I'm sorry," Sofia said quickly. "My emotions got the best of me. I should've handled it better."
She meant it too. She knew she was skating on thin ice now.
"This has never happened before, and it better not happen again."
"It won't. I promise."
Garvey's eyes softened just slightly. "Your parents were good people. I owe them. But if I get any more complaints, you're out. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. This will be the last."
"Good. Now get back to work."
Sofia gave a quiet nod and turned back to the floor, heart heavy, mind racing.
■■■■■■
By 5 p.m., closing time had come like a long-overdue breath of air. The diner was quiet, the clinking of dishes and the faint hum of neon signs filling the background.
"Girl, it's been a while since I've seen you snap like that," Sandra said as they packed up behind the counter.
Sofia chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to, honestly. But he was really getting on my nerves."
"I was ready to jump in—give him a piece of my mind," Sandra teased. "But you had it handled like a boss."
Sofia grinned. "Please, you wouldn't have done anything."
"Hey, don't sleep on me. Well… maybe not when it comes to him."
Sofia paused. "Wait—what do you mean?"
Sandra raised a brow. "You don't know who that was?"
"No. Should I?"
"That was Vincenzo Moretti."
Sofia frowned. "Sounds Italian. But he didn't have an accent."
"He doesn't need one. He owns MCC. Moretti Crude Corporation."
Sofia's eyes widened. "You mean the MCC? The international oil company?"
"The very one."
She blinked, stunned. "Then why the hell was he eating in this diner?"
"Apparently, he likes the coffee," Sandra said with a shrug. Then, with a serious look, she added, "But people say he's dangerous. Cold. Calculating."
"Well, he didn't seem that dangerous."
Sandra grabbed her bag and gave her a sharp look. "Be careful, Sofia. Guys like that? Are slow poisons."
Sofia gave a light laugh to shake the chill that ran down her spine. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. See you later, Sandy."
They waved goodbye, but Sofia couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting. Something far bigger than a spilled cup of coffee.
>">">">">">"
It was Friday—Sofia's sacred day. No matter how chaotic her life got, this was the one promise she never broke. She walked the familiar route to the flower shop just around the corner from her building. The bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped inside, the scent of fresh blooms rushing to greet her. Her eyes scanned the vibrant display until they landed on a soft bundle of pink tulips—her mother's favorite.
She paid in crumpled bills, clutching the bouquet close like it might shield her from reality. The cab ride to the hospital was silent, save for the occasional honk and the low hum of the radio. She watched the city blur past, the petals brushing against her fingers like a fragile memory.
Room 308. She knew it by heart.
"Hey, Mum," Sofia whispered, stepping in. The room was cold and sterile, the fluorescent lights humming faintly above. Her mother lay in the same position as always, her eyes blinking slowly in response. It was the only movement she could still make.
Sofia gently swapped the wilted flowers in the bedside vase with the tulips, arranging them with care. She sat beside the bed, brushing her mother's graying hair back softly.
"You'd hate how these nurses leave the room so stuffy," she said opening the window to let in the fresh air . "So funny story, I almost got fired today." She chuckled lightly.
She sighed, shifting in her seat. "There was this guy—rude, arrogant, probably in his early thirties. But God, was he hot." She smirked. "Like, if we removed the toxic attitude and superiority complex, he'd make a fine lover. In another life, of course."
She let the silence linger, pretending her mother could laugh with her again.
"Miss Sofia?"
She turned quickly. It was Dr. Simon, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a kind voice. He held a clipboard like it was a burden.
"Doctor. How is she today?"
"Stable… for now."
That phrase sent a chill down her spine.
"For now? What does that mean?"
Dr. Simon hesitated, shifting on his feet.
"The insurance doesn't cover everything. There's a critical medication she's supposed to be on—but due to the lack of payment..."
"Wait—you're not giving it to her?" Her voice cracked, panic rising in her throat.
"We've held off temporarily," he admitted. "You still have a large amount in outstanding bills. I know this isn't easy—"
"She's all I have!" Sofia stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Please, Dr. Simon, don't do this. Just give her the meds. I'll pay. I swear. End of the month."
He softened, the weight of her desperation clear. "I'll see what I can do, but the hospital has its protocols."
Sofia exhaled shakily. "Thank you. Really."
"You know where to find me. Next week, same time?"
"Yes."
When he left, she turned back to her mother, gripping her hand gently.
"I'm so sorry, Mum. I hate this place. I hate seeing you like this."
She leaned down and kissed her mother's forehead, letting her lips linger longer than usual.
"But I promise—by next Friday, you'll be back on your meds. And one day, you'll sit up and laugh at all this. You'll be strong again."
She forced a smile. "I love you."
She walked out, the tulip scent still clinging faintly to her fingers.
It was 7:00 p.m. when Sofia returned home, exhaustion weighing heavy on her shoulders. She had only three precious hours of rest before clocking into her second job—her night shift at the private hospital. Though her body screamed for sleep, her mind knew better: the bills weren't going to pay themselves. Not with her mother's growing medical needs and a crumbling apartment she could barely afford.
After a quick nap, she slipped into her blue nursing uniform, tied her hair back into a neat ponytail, and stepped out into the dusky streets. The walk to the main road was quiet, the distant hum of city life echoing in the background as she flagged down a cab.
She arrived at the hospital just in time.
"Hey, Sof!" Ashley called from behind the receptionist desk, her fingers typing furiously as she juggled calls and files.
"What's good, Ash? How's Peter?" Sofia asked with a warm but tired smile.
Ashley beamed, practically glowing. "We're prepping for our honeymoon next week! I still can't believe it's actually happening."
"Aww, that's sweet. Don't forget to bring back souvenirs," Sofia teased, heading toward her small office.
"Of course not!" Ashley laughed.
Sofia had just set her bag down when her phone rang. It was Dr. Christopher, her boss—a blunt man with little patience for delays.
"I need the full medical reports on the pediatric cases you're handling," he said without greeting.
"They'll be on your desk in thirty minutes," Sofia replied smoothly.
"Good." Click.
Sighing, Sofia grabbed her stethoscope and clipboard and made her way to Room 204—Samantha's room.
"Hey, big girl," she said, stepping in with a bright smile.
"Hey," Samantha replied softly, her voice dulled by fatigue. At seventeen, the once-lively teen now spent most of her days confined to a hospital bed, battling Ewing sarcoma—a rare and aggressive bone cancer.
"Aww, what happened to my cupcake's smile?" Sofia teased gently, settling beside her bed.
"I'm fine. But don't call me cupcake. I'm seventeen," Samantha mumbled, trying to hide the tremble in her voice.
"Mm-hmm. Is this about Fred again?"
Samantha's lips quivered. "He won't answer my calls. I've left so many messages… all left on read."
Sofia checked her vitals—thankfully stable—then looked the girl square in the eyes. "You know what we're gonna do? Nothing. You don't feed his ego. No more messages, no more calls. Make him think you've moved on."
"And then what?" Samantha sniffled.
"Then when he finally texts you—block him."
Samantha gasped. "That's toxic!"
"Sometimes, sweetie, you've gotta be a little toxic to keep your peace. Besides, maybe you'll meet someone better."
"But I love Fred…"
"No, honey. You love that he's cute. That's not the same thing."
Samantha chuckled through her tears. "He is really cute, though."
Sofia grinned. "You deserve someone who actually gives a damn. Trust me."
"Spoken like a woman in love," Samantha teased. "You're not even dating anyone, are you?"
"And on that note—bye!" Sofia stood up dramatically, making the teen laugh as she left the room.
Next stop: Hazel's room. The little eight-year-old had Type 1 diabetes and a stubborn streak Sofia secretly admired. As expected, the child wasn't in bed.
"Hmm… where could Hazel be?" Sofia asked aloud, theatrically glancing around the empty room. She pretended to leave, then quickly ducked behind the curtain.
Seconds later, a giggle. Then Hazel's tiny figure crawled out from under the bed—only to be caught.
"Gotcha!" Sofia pounced, scooping her up and launching a tickle attack.
Hazel squirmed in her arms. "Nooo! I thought I had you this time!"
"You almost did, but you forget—I'm the genius here," Sofia said, carrying her back to the bed like a playful lioness.
"I'm gonna get you next time," Hazel vowed, eyes sparkling.
"We'll see, Gummy Bear," Sofia said, then reached for the syringe. Hazel's mood shifted instantly.
"Not that again…"
"The last one. I promise."
"It hurts…"
"Okay, imagine it's magic fairy juice that turns you into a sparkly princess."
"I'm eight, not four. I'm practically an adult."
"Ohhh, my bad," Sofia said, pretending to bow. "But adults don't whine about tiny syringes."
"I wasn't whining! Just give me the shot."
Sofia administered the medication gently. Hazel hissed but bore it bravely.
"How did I do?" the girl asked afterward.
"You, my dear, have officially graduated from gummy bear to full-on Mama Bear."
"Yes!" Hazel cheered.
Sofia's smile softened at the joy in the little girl's face, but it faltered when Hazel spoke again.
"Please don't go."
Sofia crouched beside her bed. "Is that your way of saying you missed me?"
"Maybe… Dad's always busy. He doesn't play with me."
Sofia's heart ached. "Alright, how about this—I'll be back in thirty minutes. I just have to drop off some reports."
"Pinky promise?" Hazel asked, holding out her tiny finger.
"Pinky promise," Sofia whispered, linking their fingers.