The bell above the café door jingled as the morning rush filtered in. I tightened my apron, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and grabbed a tray of cappuccinos. Same routine, different day. I liked it that way—predictable, quiet, safe.

  Until he showed up.

  He was in the far corner booth, shrouded in shadows even though the sunlight streamed through the windows. A black suit, crisp shirt, no tie. There was something deliberate about how still he sat, how easily he blended into the background—until you noticed him. And once you did, it was impossible to look away.

  I hadn’t seen him come in, but somehow, I knew he was watching me before I turned to find his eyes.

  “Elena,” Maria called. “Table five. That guy’s been sitting there a while. Check on him?”

  I nodded, scribbling a note and heading toward him. My sneakers scuffed the tile floor, but he didn’t look up. Not at first.

  “Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Can I get you anything?”

  He glanced up, and I stilled.

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  His eyes were dark—calm, cold, unreadable. There was power in his gaze, the kind that made your breath catch before you knew why.

  “Coffee,” he said.

  “Any cream or sugar?”

  “No.”

  Simple. Final. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

  “What’s your name?”

  I hesitated. There was something sharp beneath the calm. “Elena.”

  His mouth tilted into a faint, unreadable smile. “Dominic.”

  I returned to the counter, trying not to let the name settle too heavily on me. But it did.

  “Do you know that guy?” I asked Maria, pretending to busy myself with cups.

  She glanced his way. “No. He looks like someone who doesn’t get told no very often.”

  That was putting it mildly.

  When I brought the coffee to his table, he met my eyes again. “You always work mornings?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied carefully. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “You’re not like the others here.”

  I blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a compliment.”

  “Right.” I gave a small, awkward smile and stepped back. “Enjoy your coffee.”

  For the next two hours, Dominic Moretti sat in that corner, nursing his drink like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t take out a phone or talk to anyone. He just watched. The café. The door. Me.

  Something about him made the air feel different—charged, like a storm was waiting just outside the window.

  When he finally stood, he left a hundred-dollar bill on the table. No change. No goodbye. Just a glance in my direction, then gone.

  ---

  Later that night, the streets were quieter than usual as I walked home. I wrapped my coat tighter around me, but it wasn’t the cold that made me shiver.

  It was him.

  Dominic Moretti.

  He hadn’t said much. Had barely moved. But something about him stayed with me. Like a shadow that wouldn’t leave once the sun went down.

  I told myself he was just a customer. A stranger. But deep down, I already knew better.

  My life had always been about staying under the radar. Out of trouble. Away from people who carried danger like a second skin.

  But Dominic?

  He wasn’t just dangerous.

  He was a warning I didn’t want to hear—and a pull I wasn’t ready to resist.