~Angelo’s POV~
The dim glow of pendant lights hung over the polished mahogany bar at La Bella Vita, an upscale Italian joint tucked into the bustling heart of downtown Manhattan. It was Friday night, the kind where suits loosened their ties and wallets opened wide after a week of boardroom battles.
I, Angelo Torellio, slung trays of tiramisu and Chianti with the ease of someone who'd been dodging elbows and egos since I was eighteen. At twenty-five, with my olive skin, tousled black hair, and a jawline that turned heads, I knew I had an edge in tips.
But the real money?
That came from the shadows, the quick, dirty deals in the men's room that kept my rent paid and my secrets buried.
I'd started the side hustle six months ago, after a slow shift where a tipsy exec, mid-forties, weddi
