Chapter 2 - He Didn't Come for the Coffee
I did not go to dinner.
That was my first mistake.
My second was thinking Dante Caruso would interpret silence as rejection.
At seven fifty-five, I was wiping ketchup from booth four.
At eight, rain began striking the windows.
At eight oh three, the diner door opened.
Tommy saw Dante and disappeared into the office.
Marcus vanished behind the grill.
I remained standing with a wet rag in one hand.
Dante entered alone.
That was somehow worse.
Black coat.
Black shirt.
No tie.
The thin scar near his jaw visible beneath the warm diner lights.
He looked around.
Then at me.
“You stood me up.”
“I never agreed.”
“You received my invitation.”
“Yes.”
“That generally requires a response.”
“I've never received an invitation delivered by a man who looked like he could bury someone in concrete.”
Dante's mouth twitched.
“That was Luca.”
“I didn't ask his name.”
“You looked curious.”
“I looked terrified.”
“You hide it well.”
He sat at the counter.
I crossed my arms.
“What do you want?”
“Coffee.”
“You have restaurants.”
“Yes.”
“Better coffee.”
“Much.”
“Then why are you here?”
His eyes met mine.
“I didn't come for the coffee.”
The words landed too softly.
I looked away.
“You don't know me.”
“I know enough to be curious.”
“Curiosity gets people in trouble.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Life.”
I poured coffee.
He watched me work.
Not in the way men usually watched waitresses.
There was no cheap hunger.
He noticed details.
When I favored my left foot.
When I winced reaching above the counter.
When Tommy yelled at me for dropping a spoon.
Dante's jaw tightened at that.
After ten minutes he asked, “What time do you finish?”
“Midnight.”
“I'll wait.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot sit here for four hours.”
“I own buildings with less comfortable chairs.”
“You really are bad at proving you're normal.”
“I have never claimed normality.”
He stayed.
Not four hours.
Twenty minutes.
Before leaving, he placed exact change for coffee on the counter.
No hundred-dollar bill.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
“Learning,” he said.
I hated that I smiled.
Over the next week, Dante came back three times.
He never ordered pie again.
Once he brought a book.
Once he sat for twenty minutes without speaking while I rushed through the dinner crowd.
The third time, a drunk customer grabbed my wrist.
Hard.
“Smile when I'm talking to you.”
I tried pulling away.
He tightened his grip.
Then a voice behind him said:
“Remove your hand.”
The drunk turned.
Dante stood six feet away.
No guards visible.
No raised voice.
The man's grip loosened.
“Mind your business.”
Dante looked at my wrist.
Then at him.
“You made it my business.”
Something in his eyes sobered the drunk instantly.
The man released me and left.
I turned on Dante.
“I didn't need rescuing.”
“No?”
“I was handling it.”
“He bruised you.”
“And?”
His face went cold.
“And I dislike men who mistake women for property.”
The irony nearly made me laugh.
“You're a Mafia Boss.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You keep saying that very loudly.”
“Am I wrong?”
He paused.
“No.”
That was the first time he admitted it.
My stomach tightened.
“Dante…”
“I won't lie to you.”
“That's a terrible sign.”
His gaze remained steady.
“My family's business began long before I was born. Some of it is legal. Some of it was not.”
“Was?”
“I am changing things.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
“I expect you to watch what I do.”
Before I could answer, Tommy shouted from the office.
“Clare!”
I turned.
Tommy stood beside two men in expensive coats.
One held paperwork.
Tommy looked ill.
“What happened?”
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
“Diner's been sold.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The building too.”
My gaze moved automatically to Dante.
His expression changed.
Not guilt.
Confusion.
“Did you do this?”
“No.”
“You expect me—”
“I said I won't lie to you.”
The men at Tommy's side watched Dante and suddenly looked uncomfortable.
Dante approached.
“Who bought it?”
One answered reluctantly.
“Bellini Development.”
Dante stopped.
The room changed.
I saw something dark behind his eyes.
“Bellini?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dante turned toward the window.
Across the street sat a silver Bentley.
A man inside raised one hand.
Mocking.
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Who is that?”
I asked.
“Trouble.”
The Bentley drove away.
Dante looked at me.
“You cannot stay here tonight.”
I laughed.
“This is my job.”
“No longer.”
“What does that mean?”
“Bellini didn't buy this place because of the property.”
My smile disappeared.
“Then why?”
Dante looked at me.
“Because he saw me coming here.”
Cold traveled through me.
“You're saying someone bought my workplace because you drank coffee here?”
“Yes.”
“That is insane.”
“Yes.”
“And you're saying it calmly.”
“Panic wastes time.”
I grabbed my bag.
“No. You don't get to walk into my life, become curious, and suddenly turn my diner into a Mafia chessboard.”
“Clare.”
“Stay away from me.”
Pain flickered across his face.
I almost hated seeing it.
Then the diner window exploded.
Everyone screamed.
Dante moved before I understood.
He grabbed me around the waist and drove both of us behind the counter.
Glass rained over us.
A bullet buried itself in the coffee machine.
Dante covered my body with his.
“Stay down.”
His voice was different now.
No amusement.
No flirtation.
Just command.
Outside, tires screamed.
Dante pulled a gun from beneath his coat.
I stared.
He looked down at me.
And for the first time I understood that the rumors were not exaggerations.
May you like
This was his world.
And because he had noticed me, it had just entered mine.
