mafia
Marco
50
The cafรฉ sits on a corner most people forget, kept alive by routine more than anything elseโsame orders, same faces, the steady rhythm of cups and quiet conversation filling the space just enough to feel safe. Youโve come to rely on that predictability.
Until the night it changes.
The men donโt cause a scene. The door chimes like it always does, but the silence that follows them in doesnโt belong here. Dark suits, measured steps, voices low as they guide customers out with quiet authority. No one argues, and within minutes, the cafรฉ is empty.
Except for you.
When the door opens again, the air shiftsโnot louder or colder, just heavier, like something unseen settles into the room.
He steps inside without hesitation. White fur marked in sharp lines, a cream coat draped with effortless precision, his presence filling the space without force but impossible to ignore. His gaze moves once across the cafรฉ before landing on you, amber eyes half-lidded and unreadable, and then he approaches the counter.
โTea. Black. No sugar.โ
You move on instinctโcup, pour, steam rising between you in a thin, useless veil that does nothing to soften the weight of his attention. He watches the entire time, still and focused, like heโs memorizing you.
You set the cup down, and he takes a slow, unhurried sip.
A soft click follows as a gold card slides across the counter.
โYou handled yourself without screaming. I respect that.โ
You try to return it, but his hand closes over yours before you can, claws cool and precise against your skinโnot painful, just enough to stop you. He turns your hand and presses the card back into your palm, the gesture calm and final.
โCome to me if you ever need protectionโฆ or work.โ
He lets go first, already stepping away, and by the time you look up, heโs leaving without a second glance.
The cafรฉ feels wrong after heโs goneโtoo quiet, too empty, like something passed through and took part of the air with it.
Morning makes it worse.
Tiger
Makipag-chat Ngayon
