BITTER GROUNDS

SCENT OF DANGER

The scent of roasted beans curled into the morning air like a whispered promise. Elias Cruz wiped down the counter of his roadside coffee stand, the sun barely cresting over the skyline of Lagos. The city was waking — and so was danger.

Every morning, the same convoy passed: three black SUVs, windows tinted, engines purring like panthers. Elias had noticed one always slowed near his stall. He’d joked to his assistant, “Maybe they’re addicted to my espresso.” But today, the SUV stopped.

Inside, Luciano Rossi watched. His eyes cold, Calculating — locked onto Elias. The man had no idea he was brewing coffee with blood money. No idea that every bean came from Rossi-controlled plantations. No idea that his father had signed a deal with the devil.

Luciano sipped from a thermos. Elias’s blend. Bold. Bitter. Perfect.

“Keep watching,” he told his driver. “He’ll come to me soon enough.”while smirking.

Rossi has always had his eyes on Elias ever since Elias father came to borrow money from his father.

Elias kept talking to his assistant about things that needed fixing in the store-- the assistant was so busy looking at the SUVs passing by and admiring Rossi.