Chapter 7 - The Table That Was Always His
One year after Vincent first entered Bellamy’s, Mia unlocked the door to a small storefront in Brooklyn.
The sign above it read:
BENNETT’S CAFÉ.
She stood inside surrounded by unfinished tables, boxes, and paint cans.
Vincent entered behind her.
His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing the dark tattoos along his hands and wrists.
He looked around.
“You're behind schedule.”
Mia turned.
“Get out.”
“The contractor said Tuesday.”
“The contractor works for me.”
“Exactly.”
Vincent smiled.
She had done it.
Not with his money.
Mia had saved more, secured a small business loan, and found two private investors.
Vincent had offered advice only when asked.
It had nearly killed him.
He walked toward the counter.
“Coffee machine?”
“Arriving tomorrow.”
“Tables?”
“Friday.”
“Staff?”
“Three people hired.”
“Profit projections?”
Mia pointed toward the door.
“One more question and you're banned.”
Vincent lifted his hands.
“Fine.”
She approached him.
“You've been very good.”
“At what?”
“Not taking over.”
“I've developed remarkable self-control.”
“Marco told me you secretly researched every investor.”
Vincent paused.
“Marco talks too much.”
Mia laughed.
Then Vincent noticed something near the front window.
A small table.
Two chairs.
He walked toward it.
A tiny brass plaque had been fixed to the edge.
Vincent read it.
VINCENT'S TABLE
He turned.
Mia leaned against the counter.
“You remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
Vincent ran his thumb over the plaque.
“You named a table after me?”
“Don't let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
“And you still pay.”
His smile disappeared.
“This relationship is abusive.”
Mia laughed.
---
Opening day was chaotic.
Customers filled the café.
Paul came from Bellamy’s.
Marco arrived with several Romano employees.
Even Vincent's intimidating security men stood awkwardly holding pastries.
Mia worked behind the counter.
Vincent sat at his table.
Exactly like the first night.
Except this time he wasn't hiding.
Near closing, Mia carried over two coffees.
She sat across from him.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Exhausted.”
“Is that how you greet every café owner?”
Mia smiled.
“Only difficult ones.”
They both laughed.
Then Vincent became serious.
“I have something for you.”
Mia immediately narrowed her eyes.
“If it's expensive—”
“It isn't.”
He placed a small object on the table.
A key.
Mia looked at it.
“What is this?”
“My apartment.”
She stared.
Vincent continued.
“I’m not buying you anything.”
“Good start.”
“I’m not asking you to stop working.”
“Better.”
“I’m not trying to change your life.”
Mia looked up.
Vincent seemed strangely nervous.
She had seen him face hostile executives without blinking.
But now his fingers rested tensely against his coffee cup.
“I spent most of my life making sure nobody could get close enough to hurt me,” he said.
Mia remained silent.
“And then you looked at me for five minutes and called me lonely.”
“You were.”
“I know.”
He pushed the key slightly toward her.
“I don't want to be anymore.”
Mia looked at the key.
Then at him.
“Vincent Romano, are you asking me to move in with you?”
“I’m trying.”
“You're terrible at it.”
“I run several billion-dollar companies.”
“And somehow this defeats you.”
“Yes.”
Mia smiled.
Then she picked up the key.
Vincent exhaled.
“That's a yes?”
“That's a maybe.”
“Mia.”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
His expression changed instantly.
Not the controlled smile he gave cameras.
Not the intimidating look businessmen feared.
The real one.
The smile she had first seen over a slice of chocolate cake.
---
Six months later, Bennett’s Café had become profitable.
Mia hired two more employees.
Vincent still came several nights each week.
And despite Mia's protests, customers eventually discovered the intimidating man with tattoos sitting at the window was Vincent Romano.
Most left him alone.
The regulars eventually stopped caring.
To them, he was simply Vincent.
One rainy evening, Mia approached his table.
“You look exhausted.”
Vincent glanced up from his coffee.
“Is that how you greet every customer?”
“Only the ones pretending they're fine.”
He smiled.
The same conversation.
A completely different life.
Mia sat across from him.
Vincent looked around the café she had built herself.
“You know something?”
“What?”
“You were wrong about me that first night.”
Mia raised an eyebrow.
“About what?”
“You said I was pretending because I was lonely.”
“You were.”
“Yes.”
He reached across the table.
Mia gave him her hand.
“But that wasn't the whole reason.”
“Then what was?”
Vincent looked at her.
“I wanted to know if anyone could see me before they saw Romano.”
Mia smiled softly.
“And did you get your answer?”
Vincent's thumb moved across her fingers.
“Yes.”
She leaned closer.
“Good.”
Vincent smiled.
“Tell me something, Mia.”
“What?”
“How long were you planning to pretend you were just a waitress when you were the only person who could see the real Vincent Romano?”
Mia laughed.
“I wasn't pretending.”
“No?”
“No.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I was a waitress.”
Her eyes moved around the busy café.
“Then I became a café owner.”
Finally, she looked back at him.
“And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with a stubborn customer who wouldn't admit he wanted chocolate cake.”
Vincent went still.
Mia smiled.
“What?”
“You've never said that.”
She realized he was right.
“Then maybe you should listen carefully.”
Vincent leaned closer.
Mia held his gaze.
“I love you, Vincent.”
For years, his name had made rooms fall silent.
It had opened doors, ended negotiations, created alliances, and frightened enemies.
But the four words Mia had just spoken mattered more to him than everything attached to the Romano name.
“I love you too.”
Mia smiled.
Then she pointed at his empty plate.
“Want another piece of cake?”
Vincent leaned back.
“No.”
Mia stood.
“You looked at the display twice.”
Vincent laughed.
“Fine.”
“I knew it.”
She walked toward the counter.
Vincent watched her go.
Outside, two black vehicles waited beneath the rain.
Inside, customers talked and laughed.
Nobody stared at him.
Nobody feared him.
Nobody wanted anything.
Vincent looked at the little brass plaque on his table.
VINCENT'S TABLE.
A year and a half earlier, he had entered a neighborhood restaurant because he desperately wanted to become nobody.
Instead, a waitress had looked past the billionaire, past the power, past the dangerous Romano name—and found the lonely man underneath.
Now he no longer needed to hide.
Because Mia Bennett had given Vincent Romano the one thing his empire never could.
May you like
A place where he was loved simply for being himself.
THE END
