Dark Romance | Mafia

Chapter Twelve

Stella's POV:

Scar and I moved around the quiet café, our hands working in sync as we wiped down the tables with quick, practiced motions.

The soft clink of chairs being pushed in and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air were the only things left of the bustling day we had just endured.

The "Open" sign on the front door had been flipped to "Closed" nearly half an hour ago.

Sam had rushed out earlier than usual, a strange look in his eyes. "Something urgent came up," was all he said before grabbing his coat and disappearing through the back door.

There was something off about him. His movements were rushed, distracted. He hadn’t even looked either of us in the eye. When I asked if everything was alright, his hands were trembling slightly, he instantly shoved them into his pockets.

I couldn't help but hope he hadn’t gotten himself in the trouble.

I glanced at Scar, who was scrubbing a stubborn coffee stain, like it had insulted her.

Her brow was slightly furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. She wasn’t speaking much tonight. Neither was I. Maybe we were both just tired.

"Uhh.... I'm done, Let's go, girl. I need some rest, before i pass out." I sighed, stretching my back.

"Aww, poor baby, should I call an ambulance," she laughed.

"Yeah, Only if they bring snacks and a blanket and make sure it has Wi-Fi. I'm not dying bored." I chuckled.

Just as we reached for our belongings, the door swung open with a sharp sound that cut through our conversation.

Despite the clearly flipped Closed sign, he and his friends pushed inside like they owned the place. Striding in with the same arrogant confidence they always carried, they acted like the rules didn’t apply to them.

I glanced at Mr. Romano. He was immaculately dressed, with that same air of danger clinging to him like a shadow. His presence always demanded attention....and somehow, it always got it.

"Three espressos," Xavier Knight said, his tone clipped and dismissive, like we were nothing more than machines behind a counter.

Scar let out a soft, tired sigh and threw me a glance.

"Let’s just get this over with, it's not like we have a choice," she murmured.

We dragged ourselves back behind the counter, our bodies aching, heads heavy. We moved like ghosts—slow, worn-out, and half-alive. Our bodies were running on fumes.

While preparing the drinks, my eyes drifted across the café—and landed on our manager. His head was lowered, his posture submissive. The way he spoke to them—nervous, respectful, like he belonged to them.

Such a hypocrite.

I snapped out of my thoughts when Scar's voice reached my ears.

"Why do they always come at this hour?" she whispered, frustration clear in her tone.

"Quiet, Let’s just do it. Don’t you see? Our manager is their lapdog. If he hears us, we're done."

"No doubt about it, you are right. He always sways his tail infront of them, bloody idiot."

My eyes wandered—just for a second—and landed on Mr. Romano’s face. He was already staring at me. I quickly averted my gaze and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I refused to look back, but I could feel his eyes on me—heavy and unrelenting, like a weight pressing between my shoulder blades.

Still, I couldn’t help but steal glances. He had leaned back in his chair, phone to his ear, talking to someone. His broad shoulders were relaxed, but everything about him radiated control. Power.

When the coffee was ready, I walked over to serve it. As I placed the cup in front of him, our fingers brushed—just for the briefest moment. But it was enough. A spark shot through me, unexpected and electric, leaving me breathless.

He didn’t give any reaction. No smirk, no glare, no acknowledgment at all.

After finishing their drinks, they stood up and left, the heavy thud of their boots echoing across the tiled floor. The door swung shut behind them.

Once everything was done, we finished cleanup, we stepped outside, rubbing my arms against the chill. The street was nearly empty, quiet except for the distant hum of a car engine and the rustle of wind tugging at the edges of my coat.

That’s when I saw it.

A note—taped to the front glass door, flapping slightly in the breeze. My brows furrowed as I stepped closer. It was a scrap of paper, torn unevenly, with hastily scrawled handwriting slashed across the surface in dark ink. The letters were sharp, jagged, and angry.

"Stay out of this."

Four words.

That’s all it said, but they slammed into me like a punch to the chest.

My eyes dropped to the name scrawled at the bottom of the page.

—A.K.

My breath hitched, sharp and sudden. A tight knot formed in my chest as my pulse thundered in my ears, each beat louder than the last. My whole body tensed.

I looked around instinctively, but the street was empty. My pulse quickened and heart was racing, like it was trying to escape my chest.

The note was still in my hand, crumpling slightly as my fingers tightened around it. My mind was racing—a chaotic train of thoughts, with questions flooding in all at once.

Had he left it For me?

But what exactly did he think I was in?

And more importantly…

What was I supposed to stay out of?

Until then.....