Lina
The café is quieter than usual.
Rain has a way of emptying the city streets, sending people rushing home instead of lingering over coffee and conversation.
I don't mind it.
Quiet has always helped me think.
The small table by the window has become a habit over the past few months. Same chair. Same view of the street. Same notebook sitting open beside a cup of coffee that has already gone cold.
But tonight my thoughts refuse to settle.
Victor's voice from the phone call last night keeps replaying in my mind.
Someone else is watching you.
At the time, I tried not to let the words get under my skin.
Now I'm starting to realize he might have meant them more seriously than I thought.
A man has been sitting at the far end of the café for nearly twenty minutes.
He hasn't ordered anything.
And he hasn't stopped looking at me.
I pretend not to notice.
Instead, I flip a page in my notebook and pick up my pen.
If you grow up around strong personalities, you learn early how to read people.
And this man doesn't feel like a stranger who accidentally made eye contact.
He feels deliberate.
Finally, the chair across from me slides out.
I look up slowly.
The man from the corner sits down without asking.
He's probably in his mid-thirties. Dark hair. Expensive jacket. The kind of calm confidence that usually belongs to men who know exactly what room they're walking into.
"Good afternoon," he says politely.
I close my notebook.
"I'm sorry," I reply calmly. "I don't remember inviting you."
He smiles slightly.
"No, you didn't."
"Then I think you should leave."
Instead of moving, he leans back comfortably.
"You're Lina Moreno."
It's not a question.
My stomach tightens slightly, but my expression stays neutral.
"Yes."
"Good," he says.
"Why?"
"Because I'd hate to bother the wrong woman."
The casual tone makes something in my chest go cold.
"What do you want?"
He studies me for a moment.
Long enough to feel intentional.
"I was curious."
"About?"
"You."
I stand, reaching for my bag.
"Well, curiosity satisfied. Goodbye."
But before I can step away, his voice stops me.
"You spoke to Victor Hale last night."
The air in the café suddenly feels heavier.
Slowly, I turn back.
"How do you know that?"
The man's smile deepens slightly.
"Victor isn't the only person who pays attention to things that matter."
My pulse picks up.
"You shouldn't be following me."
"Following is such an aggressive word."
"You knew where to find me."
"Yes."
"And you knew who I am."
"Yes."
I cross my arms.
"So let's skip the polite conversation and get to the point."
The man nods slightly, almost impressed.
"You're direct."
"I'm busy."
He leans forward slightly.
"Victor Hale is a powerful man."
I don't respond.
"But power creates enemies," he continues.
"I'm aware."
"Good."
He taps the table lightly with one finger.
"Then you understand that people sometimes get caught in situations they didn't choose."
I hold his gaze.
"If this is supposed to scare me, you're doing a very poor job."
The man chuckles softly.
"Oh, I'm not here to scare you."
"Then what are you here to do?"
His eyes sharpen slightly.
"Deliver a message."
"For Victor?"
"Yes."
I shake my head.
"Then you're talking to the wrong person."
He stands slowly.
"No," he says calmly.
"I'm talking to exactly the right person."
My jaw tightens.
"What message?"
He adjusts his jacket like the conversation is already finished.
"Tell Victor Hale that Elena Romano doesn't like being ignored."
A chill runs down my spine.
"And if he continues pretending this situation doesn't exist…"
The man pauses.
Then meets my eyes again.
"…the next conversation won't be in a café."
He turns and walks toward the door.
Just like that.
No rush.
No fear.
As if he knows no one here will stop him.
The bell above the door rings softly when he leaves.
The café returns to its quiet hum.
But something inside me has shifted.
Because now Victor's warning doesn't feel like paranoia.
It feels like the beginning of something much worse.
I grab my phone.
My thumb hesitates over Victor's number.
For a moment I consider ignoring this.
Handling it myself.
Staying out of his world the way I promised.
But the man's words echo again in my mind.
Elena Romano doesn't like being ignored.
Slowly, I press the call button.
The phone rings once.
Twice.
Then Victor answers.
"Lina."
His voice is instantly alert.
And somehow he already sounds like a man expecting bad news.
My heart beats faster.
"Victor," I say quietly.
"Yes."
"I think Elena just sent someone to talk to me."
Silence.
Cold.
Heavy.
Then Victor speaks again.
But this time his voice carries something dangerous beneath the calm.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
Because somewhere across the city.
Victor Hale just realized the line Elena crossed.
And the consequences are about to begin.