The Man Everyone Feared
1038 Words
The morning sun spilled through the thin curtains of my tiny apartment, painting soft golden lines across the wooden floor, and for a brief moment, I forgot where I was. Then reality settled in.
I wasn't home.
No...
This was better.
This was freedom.
A small smile tugged at my lips as I looked around the cramped apartment. The walls were faded, the furniture mismatched, and the refrigerator made a strange humming noise every few minutes. It was imperfect, but it was mine.
"No one knows me here," I whispered as I tied my hair into a loose ponytail.
"I'mm Isabella and I am safe."
The words felt a little more believable today.
---
The café became busier than I expected.
The breakfast rush had every table occupied.
Coffee machines hissed.
Plates clattered.
Customers laughed over fresh pastries while I hurried from one table to another, balancing trays that felt far too heavy for my arms. Something about watching and serving these people felt refreshing. They were nice, smiled, and even thanked me for my services.
"You'll get used to it," Martha, the owner, said with a reassuring smile. "You're doing just fine."
"Thank you."
No one had ever praised me for simply trying, It warmed something inside me that I thought had died years ago. Just as I was wiping down a table, the entire café fell silent.
Conversations stopped.
The laughter disappeared.
Even the coffee grinder seemed quieter. Confused, I looked toward the entrance.
Five men walked inside, and they were all dressed in black. Their expressions were unreadable, and people quickly lowered their eyes, pretending not to stare.
The last man entered.
He was taller than the others.
Broad shoulders filled out a perfectly tailored black suit.
Dark hair.
Sharp jaw.
Piercing gray eyes that seemed capable of freezing a person's soul.
Power followed him like a shadow.
No...
Fear followed him.
Every single person in the café avoided looking directly at him, well except for me. For one brief second, our eyes met.
My breath caught.
There was nothing kind in those eyes.
Nothing soft.
Yet they lingered on me a heartbeat longer than necessary before he calmly looked away and took a seat in the corner. Martha suddenly appeared beside me.
"Isabella," she whispered urgently.
"Yes?"
"Don't stare."
"I wasn't staring..."
"Trust me."
She lowered her voice even further.
"Nobody stares at Luca De Santis."
The name meant nothing to me, so I frowned.
"Who is he?"
Martha looked as though I'd asked who the president was.
"You really aren't from around here."
I forced a nervous laugh.
"No."
"That man owns half this city."
She hesitated.
"The other half is too afraid to disagree with him."
A chill ran through me.
"Oh."
"Just take his order, be polite, and don't keep him waiting."
I nodded.
My palms suddenly felt sweaty.
Picking up my notepad, I walked toward the corner table.
The closer I got, the harder it became to breathe.
He didn't look up immediately.
Instead, he calmly poured himself a glass of water as though he hadn't noticed me standing there.
"Good morning," I said, trying to sound confident.
His gaze finally lifted.
Gray.
Cold.
Intense.
It felt like he wasn't just looking at me.
He was studying me.
"What would you like to order?"
Silence.
His eyes remained fixed on mine.
It was long enough to make me wonder if I'd done something wrong.
"You've never served me before."
His voice was deep and controlled.
"I just started yesterday."
"I know."
The answer caught me off guard.
He knew?
How?
He slowly closed the menu without looking at it.
"The usual."
I blinked.
"I'm sorry..."
One corner of his mouth almost curved upward.
"You don't know what that is."
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
"No."
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement flickered across his face.
"My assistant will order."
The man standing beside him stepped forward.
"Espresso. No sugar."
"And?"
Luca's eyes never left mine.
"Whatever you recommend."
I frowned.
"Me?"
"Well, you work here."
"Yes..."
"Recommend something."
No customer had asked for my opinion before.
I thought for a moment.
"Our lemon cheesecake is really popular."
"Then that's what I'll have."
I quickly wrote it down.
"Thank you."
As I turned to leave—
"Isabella."
My entire body froze.
Slowly, I looked back.
"Yes?"
His gaze remained unreadable.
"You look tired."
The words were simple.
But somehow...
They almost sounded like concern.
I forced a smile.
"I'm fine."
"No."
He spoke quietly.
"You are not."
My heart skipped.
Did he know?
Could he somehow tell?
Before I could answer, another customer called my name from across the café.
Relieved, I hurried away.
---
From his table, Luca watched her disappear behind the counter.
His right-hand man, Marco, noticed immediately.
"You've been staring at her since you walked in."
Luca said nothing.
Marco smirked.
"Should I find out who she is?"
"No."
That answer surprised even Luca.
Normally, he already would have had a complete file delivered to his office.
Instead...
He wanted to discover her himself.
There was something strange about her. Her smile was practiced. Her eyes weren't. Those eyes carried fear, and not ordinary fear. The kind that came from surviving something terrible.
Someone had hurt her.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
His fingers tightened around his coffee cup.
Whoever had put that fear in her eyes...
He hoped they never crossed his path.
Because mercy wasn't something Luca De Santis believed in.
---
That evening, after the café closed, Isabella wrapped her cardigan tightly around herself as she began the short walk home. The streets were quieter now.
Cooler.
She kept her head down.
One block.
Then another.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind her.
Slow.
Steady.
Her stomach tightened.
Don't panic.
Keep walking.
The footsteps grew closer.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She resisted the urge to run.
A black SUV rolled silently onto the street ahead.
Its headlights illuminated the empty road.
The vehicle stopped.
The rear door opened.
Isabella froze.
Then she heard a voice she recognized instantly.
Deep.
Calm.
Commanding.
"Get in."
She slowly looked up.
Luca De Santis was waiting for her.
And he wasn't asking.
- Writer
