Chapter 3 3

Aurora

My eyelids feels heavy and my tongue still tastes of fresh mint. I take out my outfit from the wardrobe, I wear a white T-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, my white Adidasshoes with three pink stripes is laced tight. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun, not because I want to look simple, but because I need it out of my face. Today I really need to see clearly.

I skip my breakfast. My stomach couldn’t hold anything even if I tried. I was awake the entire night. I just kept thinking about the stranger, the man with the espresso and the fake name, Vincent. The one who asked for privacy. The one who might know who I am.

Or worse, who I was.

But today isn’t about panic. Today is about watching. Listening. If someone shows up for that meeting, I need to see who. I need to know if I’ve been found, or if this is just another shadow from my past trying to reach me.

They can’t know who I am. They can’t.

I take a long breath in front of the mirror. "Be brave," I whisper to my reflection. My voice barely sounds like mine. I feel like a ghost forcing myself to go to work today.

Grabbing my handbag, I throw it over my shoulder and step outside. The air is cool and it makes my skin feels good. The streets are calm. Just another morning in this quiet town.

I start walking toward the café.

Every step feels heavier than it should but I keep going. Because today, I have to be ready and confront everything that will happen.

When the clock strikes ten, I hear it, the soft hum of engines outside.

I glance toward the window just in time to see a black Audi pull up beside the now-familiar white Bentley. My chest tightens.

Three men step out.

The first is Vincent, calm and composed like before, walking in with the same quiet confidence.

The second man catches my eye. He’s clean-shaven, except for a short beard, with fair skin and sharp features. He looks around my age or maybe twenty-four. His eyes sweep the café casually, but there’s something alert in the way he moves like he is more watchful.

Then he walks in.

The third man.

He wears a black suit that fits like it was made just for him. His hair is slicked back with precision, and his dark brown eyes remind me of freshly melted dark chocolate it’s rich, revengeful, and dangerous. A beard traces his jawline, neat but purposeful. He doesn’t speak, but his presence says everything.

He wears expensive shoes. A Rolex gleams under his cuff. Tattoos peek out from the back of his wrist, curling under the sleeve of his suit. I know those lines don’t stop there, they continue up his arm, maybe across his chest.

This man doesn’t just walk into a room but he takes control of it.

And no one knows a real mafia man better than I do.

I am trapped, I whisper silently to myself, forcing my body not to flinch.

They approach the counter together.

“Hello,” Vincent says with a polite smile.

The younger one nods with a quiet “Hey.”

The suited man doesn’t speak. He simply holds my gaze for a few seconds, long enough to make my skin prickle. His stare is unreadable, it is Calm and heavy.

Then he turns and walks to the table near the window.

Just like that, it begins.

Vincent approaches the counter with a practiced smile. “The man in the suit is our boss,” he says in a low, respectful voice. “Who’s the owner here? Or someone responsible. I’d like that person to serve us, please.”

I wipe my hands on a towel and meet his eyes. “I’m the owner.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “Perfect. Three espressos for now, and we’d like only two smoked marlin sandwiches.” He says precisely.

“Got it,” I say calmly, even though I can feel my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

They move to the corner table by the window, Vincent, the younger man with the sharp eyes, and the one in the suit. Their boss. The man who hasn’t said a word.

I walk to the front door, flip the sign to Closed, and lock it. If they wanted privacy, they’ve got it. Anna and Max are in the kitchen, humming quietly as they prep pastries for the afternoon. They don’t know what’s happening out here. I intend to keep it that way because that’s my story.

I make the three espressos, strong, exactly how he liked it yesterday. Then I prepare the sandwiches. Hands steady. Movements measured like a pro. I know they must be secretly watching all my move.

When everything’s ready, I carry the tray over and set it down carefully at their table.

“Sandwich for whom?” I ask while keeping my voice neutral.

Vincent gestures casually. “For me and him,” he says, nodding at the younger man.

They each take a plate.

The man in the suit doesn’t even glance at the food. He’s already sipping his espresso slowly and thoughtful. His eyes lift to meet mine now and then. Not obviously. Not constantly. But to look at me.

But enough.

Enough to remind me who’s in control here.

His look is sharp enough to make me feel like I’m being measured, piece by piece, word by word. Secretly.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, he just drinks the espresso I made him, slow and silent, like he’s tasting more than just coffee.

I start to turn away, ready to give them space, when I hear his voice for the first time.

His voice is deep.

“You’re not from this town.”

I freeze for a moment and my steps halt, then slowly turn back to face him. “A lot of people move here,” I mutter, keeping my tone light and deflective. “Quiet towns attract quiet lives.” I shrug while grinning slightly to make me appear more normal and happy.

He nods once, like he expected that answer.

Still he keeps his eyes on me. Those dark brown eyes full of something I can’t quite name. Like possession. Our eyes meet and I gulp down while looking away instantly.

He sets the espresso cup down gently. “What’s your name?”

My heart skips, just once. But I smile. “Aurora.”

A pause.

“I like that name,” he says, voice like iced water spilling from his mouth. “It suits you.”

I don’t know if it’s a compliment or a warning. Or maybe both.

He leans back in his chair, studying me, tapping one ringed finger against the side of his cup.

“You run this place well,” he adds, almost thoughtfully. “You’re well organized and a calm lady. A good host.”

I say nothing. I just nod once, keeping my expression as unreadable as his.

But inside, my mind is racing.

He hasn’t asked the real questions yet.

He hasn’t said what he’s looking for.

But I know men like him don’t waste time on coffee shops by accident. He is here for a purpose. Sooner or later, I will find out.

He lets the silence linger between us, sipping the last of his espresso. Then he sets the cup down with a soft clink.

“You ever think of doing something more… demanding?” he asks casually, like he’s asking if I’ve ever tried a different roast of coffee.

My brows lift, just slightly. “Running a café is demanding.” My voice raises a little.

Vincent chuckles under his breath. The younger man doesn’t even look up from his sandwich.

The man in the suit smiles faintly. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean something that fits your instincts. Your calmness. Your ability to observe.”

There’s something unnerving in the way he says it. Your ability to observe.

“You watching me that closely?” I ask, trying to keep it light, even as the walls seem to shrink around me.

“Always,” he replies, without missing a beat. “That’s how we survive, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer but I keep a smile on my lips.

He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his voice dropping just enough to make the air feel colder.

“See, someone like you… You’re either running from something, or waiting for it to catch up. And either way, that takes guts.” He raises his brows at me.

My throat tightens. Just a little. I don’t break my eye contact with him.

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a matted black business card. No company name. No title. Just a number.

He slides it across the table to me with two fingers. “If you ever get tired of brewing coffee and pretending you’re invisible… call me.”

I glance at the card, but I don’t touch it. I don’t want to take it. I will never call him.

“You offering me a job?” I question, masking the tension in my voice.

“I’m offering you an option,” he says. “Before someone else gives you none.” He motions with his hand like a boss.

I don’t say anything. I just look down at the card on the table.

He stands and adjusts his suit. Vincent and the younger man follow.

The boss gives me one last glance, which is truly magnetic.“Nice espresso,” he says.Then he turns and walks out the door.

I stare at the card on the table.

Still untouched.

Still burning.

The bell over the door jingles softly as they leave, and just like that, the room feels too quiet. Their cups still sit on the table, half full, crumbs of the sandwiches cooling slowly on the plates.

They barely spoke to each other.

No papers. No notes. No laptops. No signs of a real meeting. I was right, they came here to check on me and maybe they failed to recognize me and that’s a good sign.

It hits me then—that wasn’t a meeting.

He didn’t come here to talk business.

He came here to watch.

To listen.

To look at me.

I glance at the card still lying on the table. Plain. Quiet. Dangerous.

It can be a test or maybe a lure. Or a warning wrapped in politeness.

I don’t pick it up. Not yet.

Because I can’t tell if he saw through me, if the cracks in my voice, the little tremble in my hands gave me away. Maybe he knows. Maybe he doesn’t.

But one thing is certain: he didn’t come for espresso.

He came to see if I would flinch.

And maybe… I did.

I gather the cups and plates, with my hands now shaking and sweaty, and inside, everything feels different now. My safe town. My little café. My quiet disguise. I feel in danger after all these days of hiding. The morning embers is not a safe place anymore.

It’s all under a spotlight now.

And I don’t know if I passed the test, or if the real game is just beginning.

Seconds later Sophia walks in just after they leave, she comes like a breath of normal life returning while humming a song and approaching me with a bright smile. Her hair is loose and she is wearing purple pants with a white shirt.

She doesn’t know much about my past. Just that it was ugly, and that I never wanted to talk about it. She never pushed further.

“New people in town?” she asks, her voice soft as she glances back toward the door.

I nod, collecting their espresso plates of sandwich from the table. My hands stay steady. My heart… less so.

She comes closer and wraps her arms around me in a light hug. “Let’s have dinner tonight,” she says warmly, trying to anchor me. “Just us.” She adds, “with wine and some nice food.”

“Yeah, sure, honey.” I give her a tired smile, balancing the tray carefully as I carry it to the kitchen. She follows without question.

Anna and Max are at the counter, plating pastries. They glance up but don’t say anything. They know when to give space. They walk outside quietly.

Sofia leans against the fridge, arms folded, watching me rinse the cups.

“You seem a little upset,” she says gently.

I glance over my shoulder at her, then raise my eyebrows and say, mimicking her tone, “Do I?”

Her mouth twists into a smirk. “There’s that sarcasm. Must be serious.” She says with tiny eyes.

I shrug. “Just didn’t sleep much.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not just about sleep. It’s about stress.

She watches me for another beat, then pushes off the fridge and grabs an apron. “Fine, don’t tell me. But you’re still coming to dinner.”

“I said yes, didn’t I?” I grin at her.

She chuckles, but I can feel her eyes still on me. She doesn’t press further, and I love her for that.

Still, I can’t stop thinking about the man in the black suit. About the card I left under the counter. About how close the past might have just came to finding me. I can’t keep running now, I’m tired of it, so if they find me then game over for me…