A Name Written In Blood
900 Words
CHAPTER THREE
EVELYN
I shouldn’t have gone to the café.
It was too public, too exposed, too… normal for the kind of day I was having. But after the warehouse incident after him, I needed somewhere quiet to think. Somewhere that didn’t smell like gun oil and secrets.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside. Warm light. Soft music. People laughing over pastries. A world that didn’t belong to me.
I ordered a coffee and sat near the window, the folder hidden in my bag like a ticking bomb.
A.V.
Those initials haunted me. Every time I blinked, I saw them. Every time I breathed, I felt the weight of them.
Whoever he was, he was tied to my father.
Whoever he was, he was dangerous.
Whoever he was—
The chair across from me slid back.
I froze.
And then he sat down.
The stranger from the alley.
The man from the warehouse.
The man who shouldn’t know my name but somehow did.
He leaned back casually, as if we were old friends meeting for brunch. “You’re hard to keep up with.”
My pulse spiked. “What are you doing here?”
“Having coffee.”
“You didn’t order any.”
He smirked. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“Then leave.”
“No.”
I clenched my jaw. “You can’t just follow me around.”
“I’m not following you,” he said. “I’m watching you.”
“That’s worse.”
He didn’t deny it.
His eyes flicked to my bag, to the folder inside it and my stomach twisted.
He knew.
He knew I had it.
I lowered my voice. “If you’re here to threaten me—”
“If I wanted to threaten you,” he said softly, “you’d know.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something else.
Something I didn’t want to name.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Tell me what you found.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lying doesn’t suit you.”
“And stalking doesn’t suit you.”
He smiled — slow, dangerous, amused. “You don’t know anything about what suits me.”
I hated that my cheeks warmed.
I hated even more that he noticed.
His voice dropped. “You’re in over your head, Evelyn.”
My breath caught.
“How do you know my name?”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Because in that moment, I realized something terrifying:
This man wasn’t a stranger.
He was a threat.
And I had just let him sit across from me like it was nothing.
---
ALEXANDRO
She looked at me like she wanted to stab me with her spoon.
Adorable.
Reckless.
Completely unaware of the world she was standing in.
I shouldn’t have approached her. I should’ve kept my distance, watched from afar, gathered information like I always did.
But something about her pulled me in.
Maybe it was the fire in her eyes.
Maybe it was the way she didn’t shrink under pressure.
Maybe it was the fact that she was holding evidence that could burn both our families to the ground.
Or maybe — and this was the part I refused to admit — I just liked the way she said my name.
Even if she didn’t know it yet.
She crossed her arms. “Are you going to tell me who you are?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll run.”
Her lips parted, a mix of anger and curiosity. “Maybe I should.”
“You won’t.”
She hated that I was right.
I could see it in the way she gripped her cup, in the way her foot tapped under the table, in the way her eyes kept flicking to my hands like she expected me to pull a weapon.
Smart girl.
But not smart enough.
“You’re involved in something you don’t understand,” I said.
“Then explain it.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When you’re ready.”
She glared. “I’m ready now.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You’re not.”
Her breath hitched — not from fear, but from frustration. She wasn’t used to being kept in the dark. She wasn’t used to being told no.
She would have to get used to both.
Because the truth was simple:
If she knew who I was, she’d never sit across from me again.
Not willingly.
Not alive.
I stood, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Go home, Evelyn.”
“I’m not done talking to you.”
“But I’m done talking to you.”
Her eyes widened, offended. “You can’t just walk away.”
I leaned down, close enough for her to feel my breath on her ear.
“I can do anything I want.”
She shivered.
Not from fear.
And that was the problem.
I straightened and walked toward the door.
But before I stepped outside, I said one last thing — the truth she wasn’t ready for.
“My name is Alexandro.”
She froze.
And I left her sitting there, staring at the door like it had betrayed her.
Because now she knew.
A.V.
Alexandro Valenti.
The man she should have feared from the beginning.
- Writer
