Obeying The Cruel Mafia

PROLOGUE. AMBER KITCHEN. •••••••••••• Ever since I was little, Mamá always told me to avoid the male gender. She told me they were dangerous species, never to be trusted or loved. She told me that I should stay away, specifically, from the bad boys who wore leather jackets like their second skin. She also warned me about the bad boys that lurked around our town, the little town of Orleans. And she also told me how to recognize one. A bad boy has tattoos. A bad boy has piercings and a bad boy never smiles because they were all demons in leather jackets. But contrary to popular beliefs that all bad boys were demons in leather jackets, I believed that some were unjustifiably demons while a few were broken humans, hiding underneath the facade of being a bad boy —Just like the one I was staring at from behind the counter. The ‘bad-boy’ that amused me ever since he stepped foot into our diner two days ago. Right now, he was seated graciously on a chair by the window side, tapping his fingers on the table as he always did. His side against the fragile window-glass, while his eyes were set on the red jar of salt that sat on the table. He was the stereotypical example of what Mamá had described to be a bad boy. He had piercings. On his ear, eyebrows and on his lips. Had tattoos, visibly, all over his exposed neck. I couldn't see his arms to be certain if he had tattoos on there because he was putting on a long sleeve leather jacket, but I had a hunch that he did. And he never wore a smile. "What are you staring at, Amber?" A peculiar masculine voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked away from the guy that had taken my attention and stared at the male who was standing next to me. "There's an order for a table." I nodded and passed him a smile, collecting the tray that he held out to me. "Table what?" I asked, noticing the cup of dark coffee and a plate that housed a beautiful chocolate cake which smelled of freshly blended coffee beans. "Smells nice." "What do you expect? I'm chef Alejandro. The best in Orleans," he said, passing me a wink. Alejandro had a Mexican accent, but that didn't mean his English wasn't good. He was in his thirties, barrel-chested, a bit tall, hispanic with dirty blonde hair. "The order is for table ten, by the way." "Hm." I hummed and made my way out of the counter, walking towards the table the order belonged to when suddenly I remembered a little detail. I stopped walking right at the center of the diner, underneath the stare of other customers around. The table I was headed to was the same table the guy I had been gawking at since he entered the diner was seated, and for some reason it made me anxious. In fact, my hands were beginning to get sweaty just at the thought of being around him. Even if it was only going to be for a few seconds. After mustering up courage, I continued walking and moved towards his table. I got there in an instant, and without sparing him a glance I dropped his order on the table, turned around and was about to leave when I heard a voice say, "Thank you." I held on to the tray tightly and turned around, not being able to believe that such a soft-velvety, enthralling and quiet voice had come out of the amusing human I just served. "Sorry," he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were still set on the red jar of salt. "Were you talking to me?" "Yes," his response was simple and I noticed he had an accent. An Italian accent to be precise. Yet, I wanted to hear him talk forever. His voice, I came to realize, was syncopated, beautiful and ethereal. Just like beautiful music to the ears. "You served me, so I figured saying a thank you would be a proper way to show my appreciation." I paused, eyes glued on him while my mind spiraled for a simple response that I could give to him. "You're more than welcome then." My stomach churned, kicking me unconscious, literally, when he raised his head up to look directly at me. It was my first time seeing him up close and he looked handsome, even more handsome than I thought he'd be. He had a well chiseled sharp jaw that could cut across a paper clean, raven black silky hair, and his eyes weren't any different, they were black. His orbs were black, as black as vantablack, and just like two black tombs they intrigued me and I felt myself drowning in the surreal beauty it held. His lips, just like his whole face, were also beautiful. I could almost feel my wetness just by staring at him. "I haven't seen you around before," he stated, bringing me out of my trance he'd unknowingly imposed on me with the ungodly beauty he carried. "Your first day?" Anxiety fueled the hormones that coursed through me as my lips fell open in a bid to respond to his question, but I just couldn't get the response out of my mouth. It was like my tongue was tied up, or perhaps my throat was too tight. His eyes were still set on me, expectant of my response which I was finding difficult to spew out. "Are you okay?" He questioned, scratching the side of his brow's where his piercings were. "Huh-miss-" I blinked through my apprehension and brought my hand to the silver necklace on my neck. Then I left his front even before he could complete his statement. And why I did that, I wasn't sure of. I just couldn't contain the tension and anxiety that was beginning to swell up within me by just standing in his presence. He overwhelmed me and made me feel a certain way that I hadn't felt throughout the past twenty-four years of my life on planet Earth. But four things I knew was that; He made me anxious. He looked like the stereotypical example of Mamá's description of a bad-boy. I just didn't know where he fell in — the demon or hiding underneath a facade? He had a face and a voice that could immediately turn my legs into jelly. And lastly, he was someone I needed to stay away from because I had a boyfriend already, and this stranger at my front, I had no doubt that he was an. . .an imperil decoy. • •