One Night Mistake… Now I Carry the Mafia Heir

Chapter 98: 98/The Tyrant’s Order

Chapter 98

Stephanie’s point of view

I said happily as I rushed toward the exit with excitement: "Thank you again, Grandpa... I won’t be late."

I stepped out of the massive wooden palace door, my breath hitching for a few seconds when my eyes landed directly on a red Audi, gleaming with a charming luster under the morning sun. Oh my God! Did Grandpa buy me a luxurious Audi specifically for me?

I walked toward the car with rapid strides, nearly flying with joy. I opened the front door, sat behind the leather steering wheel, and ran my palm in awe over it. The car was breathtaking and equipped with every comfort. I started the engine, which let out a powerful, roaring sound, and I sped away outside the massive iron gates of the palace.

Throughout the long drive, my mind boiled with conflicting thoughts: Cedric and his shattered gaze, Alex and his terrifying possessiveness, the violent confrontation, and the dangerous revelation that had occurred in my room just moments ago. My chest tightened with apprehension and anxiety about what was to come, but I pressed firmly on the accelerator to reach the company on time and escape my thoughts.

I finally reached the towering office building, parked cautiously, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. I stepped out, and suddenly, I froze in my tracks when I found Mr. Vinceti standing there with his solid, tall frame and features as stern as a sword, waiting for my arrival in the middle of the hallway. I slowed my steps in panic, saying with visible apprehension: "Good morning... Mr. Vinceti."

He didn’t smile at all, nor did his features relax. He slowly raised his wrist, glancing at his precious Swiss watch with chilling coldness, and said in a dry, heavy tone: "What is the exact time right now, Miss Miller?"

I quickly lifted my phone, checking the digital screen in confusion. It was exactly 8:02. I swallowed my dry throat and whispered: "It is... it is eight o’clock."

He narrowed his sharp eyes, stating with ruthless precision: "It is 8:02... two full minutes."

I looked at him in disbelief. Is he going to penalize me for two minutes on my first day in this pedantic manner? I tightened my worried fingers around my bag and said: "Yes... I apologize, Mr. Vinceti."

He crossed his powerful arms over his chest arrogantly, looking at me with intensely sharp features as he said with a biting tone and underlying mockery: "You are late on your very first official day of work here! Not a promising start for punctuality."

I looked away in extreme embarrassment, my face flushing, and defended myself with difficulty: "I am truly sorry... an emergency happened at home, outside of my control, which caused my delay."

He tilted his head slightly with sarcasm, fixing his cold gaze on me, and asked with a harshness that wounded my pride: "An emergency? Did someone in your family die?"

My eyes widened in astonishment and intense repulsion at his rude, cruel question, and I retorted quickly: "No! Of course not, no one died, thank God."

He dropped his hands to his sides and said with cold simplicity: "Then... as long as no one died, then no emergency occurred that warrants being late."

I felt an intense fury gnawing at my insides and burning my nerves from his rude manner, but I swallowed the lump in my throat with great difficulty, striving to maintain my calm and composure beneath his arrogant gaze. Lowering my head slightly, I whispered in a faint, muffled voice: "I am truly sorry... this delay will not happen again."

He stared at me with features as sharp and freezing as frost, stating with an unbearable coldness that spoke of a strict, military-like personality: "It would be best and most beneficial for you if it never happens at all, Miss Miller... time here is worth a great deal."

My body stiffened in my tracks, and harsh curses spun through my mind, on the very verge of slipping past my lips. That wretched bastard! Was he really judging me this harshly and arrogantly for a mere, trivial two minutes? Turning his entire body around as he prepared to move and leave the hallway, he spoke in a dry tone, not even bothering to look behind him: "Bring my coffee to my office."

My eyes widened in shocking bewilderment, and I felt the heat of blind rage rushing rapidly into my face and neck. What? Was he asking me an intern in the design department to fetch his coffee as if I were his personal maid? Taking a reckless step forward, I called out to him in utter disapproval and frustration: "Mr. Vinceti! Are you asking me to bring your coffee?"

He abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning around toward me with a prolonged, terrifying slowness. He swept a sharp, scrutinizing gaze over me from head to toe, making me feel incredibly small, and said with a definitive coldness that froze the blood in my veins: "Is there anyone else but you standing in this damn hallway to do it?"

Confusion and dread seized me in the face of his imposing presence. Interlocking my fingers in tense agitation, I tried to object: "But I... I am a design intern here, and—"

He cut me off in a stern, dry voice that swallowed all the words and objections in my throat, tying my tongue: "Black coffee. No sugar, no milk, no other additions... Hurry up and stop wasting any more time."

He turned his entire body with measured steps and walked away, leaving me standing there alone in the middle of the vast hallway, battling my rage. Taking a searing breath, I covertly stomped my foot against the floor like a child. Oh my God, was he taking revenge on me in this humiliating way just because I was late on my first day?

I tried desperately to calm down and banish the negative thoughts. Placing my trembling palm over my chest, I gathered my scattered composure and whispered to myself pleadingly: Calm down, Stephanie... calm down. It’s just a chore and a wretched cup of coffee, don’t let him provoke you.

I walked inside with cautious, hesitant steps, and when I bypassed the large glass doors, I was taken aback by the frantic, rapid movements of the employees. They were all like a hyperactive, frantic beehive everyone running in every direction, everyone looking unbelievably busy, and papers scattered chaotically across all the tables in a place completely foreign to me. I walked down the corridor, anxiety and fear pursuing me, then approached a girl standing and arranging some design boards, saying with a worried smile, trying to win her over: "Hi... I’m Stephanie, the new intern in the department."

She turned to me quickly, glancing in a rush as tension filled her face: "Oh, hello... I’m Lily."

I said politely and tactfully: "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily."

"Likewise, Stephanie," she answered, quickly adjusting a thick stack of papers in her hand.

Taking a deep breath, I spoke quickly before she could walk away: "Please... could you quickly show me where the coffee machine is?"

She pointed her hand toward a narrow side corridor and said: "Yes, of course. Go down this way, then immediately turn left; you’ll find the room right there."

I said with immense gratitude: "Thank you so much."

I headed toward the coffee room with rapid strides, almost running. I prepared the black coffee with extreme precision, exactly as he had requested, without any additions. Then, I carefully lifted the cup with hands that trembled secretly, fearing a single drop might spill onto the floor or my clothes. Now began the journey of searching for the office of that wretched tyrant. I scanned the names hanging on the doors anxiously until my eyes finally fell on his name, "Mr. Vinceti," written in a broad, clear golden script on one of the luxurious doors.

I breathed deeply to banish my shaking, lifting my hand with great hesitation before knocking lightly and cautiously.

I was intimidated and terrified by his dry voice coming from inside, delivering a sharp command: "Come in."

I entered with extremely cautious, apprehensive steps, advancing toward his luxurious, spacious office that overlooked the city. He raised his stern head, looking at me with his sharp features that neither interpreted nor showed any emotion. Fixing his hawkish eyes on the shaking cup in my hand, he said with a biting sarcasm that slaughtered whatever remained of my patience: "A cup of black coffee took you ten whole minutes of the company’s precious time! Were you harvesting the coffee beans outside, Miss Miller?"