Shadows in the night
1015 Words
Chapter 2: Shadows in the Night
The café had already closed for the night. Elena hummed softly as she wiped down the last of the tables, the dim overhead lights casting long shadows across the wooden floors. The rain outside had started again, a steady drizzle tapping against the windows. She had always loved the sound—it was soothing, a reminder that the world kept moving no matter what happened inside her small bubble.
She sighed, rolling her stiff shoulders. It had been a long day, but at least it was over. Just as she reached for the broom, a voice made her freeze.
“Elena.”
Marco.
Her boss’s voice was heavy with something unspoken, and when she turned, he was standing too close. She stiffened, instinctively stepping back, but he moved with her, closing the distance.
“You work hard,” he murmured, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I see that. And I appreciate it.”
Elena swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she said carefully. “I really should finish cleaning—”
His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. Hard. She gasped, eyes widening as fear spiked through her.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, his tone laced with something dangerous. “I take care of my employees. Maybe you should start being a little more… appreciative.”
She felt her heart beginning to hammer in her shest. What was he up to?
She struggled, but his grip tightened. Panic surged through her veins. “Let me go,” she said, voice shaking.
Marco chuckled, his fingers digging into her skin. “Don’t play hard to get, Elena. You know how lucky you are to have this job.”
Her breath came faster now. She yanked her arm back with all her strength, breaking free for just a second—just enough to stumble away from him. Heart pounding, she darted around the counter, snatching her bag. Marco didn’t follow, but his smirk sent ice through her veins.
“Don’t make me regret hiring you,” he called as she bolted for the door.
What did that mean? She always dis his best. Work longer that anybody. Work harder than anybody. She never had a day off.
She didn’t stop running until she reached her tiny apartment. Only then did she allow herself to collapse onto the bed, gasping for breath. She curled up, wrapping her arms around herself, the bruises on her skin pulsing. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had survived worse. She would survive this.
She just had to keep quiet. Keep moving. Marco wasn’t worth the trouble.
She should just go back to work tomorrow and akt like nothing happened. What else could she do? She had no other job and she needed the money to be able to live in her tiny aparment and she bearly could afford food as it is.
⸻
The next evening, she wore a sweater to hide the bruises. The café was busy, giving her something to focus on. If she pretended hard enough, maybe she could forget the way his fingers had left their mark on her skin.
But Domenico noticed.
She had just placed a cup of coffee in front of him when his gaze flicked to her sleeve. His expression, usually so composed, darkened in an instant. He reached out before she could step away, his fingers brushing over the edge of her sleeve.
“Elena,” he said, voice quieter than usual. Too quiet. “What happened to your arm?”
She froze, her breath catching. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, trying to pull back, but he caught her wrist—gently this time, with none of Marco’s cruelty, yet with a grip that told her he wouldn’t let it slide.
His thumb ghosted over the fabric, and before she could stop him, he pushed the sleeve up. The sight of the bruises made something shift in his gaze. A muscle in his jaw tightened.
“Elena,” he repeated, his voice deadly calm. “Who did this to you?”
She swallowed hard. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just an accident.”
Domenico exhaled slowly, deliberately, like he was restraining himself from something dangerous. His fingers curled slightly around her wrist—not in a way that hurt, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t fooled.
“Tell me who did this.” His voice was a whisper, but there was steel beneath it.
Her stomach twisted. She barely knew him. He was dangerous. He was—
But the way he looked at her wasn’t like Marco. It wasn’t possession or entitlement. It was something else.
Protection.
She shook her head. “It’s not important.”
His grip tightened, just for a second, before he let go. He sat back, his expression unreadable, but there was something lethal in his eyes.
“Elena,” he murmured. “You don’t have to say anything. But trust me when I tell you this—”
He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “No one touches what’s mine and walks away unscathed.”
Her breath hitched. Her pulse pounded in her ears. But before she could respond, before she could even process his words, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
Mine? What did he mean? He bearly knows her and she is nobody special. She was a nobody without anyone who cared about her.
And the way his voice dropped into something cold and merciless told her that Marco had just made a very, very big mistake.
If Dominico found out that it was Marco what would he do? Would he hurt him?
She could not make sens of anything right now. She pulled her sleeves down so nobody else saw her bruises and went back to serving people.
When things got to much or felt out of hand she was used to shake her head and keep goind.
And thats what she is going to do.
- Writer
