Page 7 of Marco

For a long moment we're locked in a battle of wills, the air simmering between us. Then I see a flicker of respect in his eyes. Without a word, he turns and leaves. The outer door slams behind him.

I sag against the wall, my adrenaline draining away. I don't know if I've won this round, but I have a strong feeling that my clash with Marco's underworld has only just begun. Men like him don't give up that easily. In fact, from what I've heard sometimes they don't give up at all.

I take a shaky breath, trying to calm my racing heart as I watch Marco's imposing figure disappear down the street. Our heated confrontation replays in my mind—his cool arrogance, the implicit threats, and my own defiant stance against him. Did I go too far? Did I put my cafe and my employees and customers at risk by not just caving to his unreasonable demands? The audacity. Asking me to just shut down my business for a few weeks with no reason given. Who does he think he is?

I've never met someone who exudes such raw power and danger. Yet part of me thrilled in that exchange, drawn to the intensity in his stormy eyes. Marco awakened something primal in me, a recklessness I've never felt before.

But I know he also represents everything I stand against. His world of crime and violence is an affront to the community I've built here. I won't let him poison this neighborhood for his own gain, as has happened to so many communities in adjacent districts.

Still, as I wipe down the counter with shaking hands, I can't ignore the swooping sensation in my stomach when I recall his closeness. The memory of his breath on my cheek, his imposing strength barely leashed. My mind is spinning from our interaction. I've never met someone who affected me so viscerally—his sheer presence was like a lightning storm sweeping through my peaceful little cafe.

I think back to the smoldering intensity of his gaze, the coiled strength in his muscular frame barely leashed as he leaned toward me. I feel my cheeks flush as I recall his breath grazing my skin, the heady scent of his cologne enveloping me.

There's an undeniable magnetism to Marco that both unsettles and excites me. But I also know he represents everything I've tried to build a shelter against—the violence, greed and cruelty of his underworld domain. I have a feeling this first clash is only the beginning. That there are dangerous days ahead.

But while I might seem timid, a small business owner who makes pretty and fluffy pastries and drinks for people, that exterior belies the steel I have buried deep inside. If Marco wants a fight, I'll give him one. If Marco thinks he could intimidate me into compromising my values, he's mistaken.

Because what he doesn't know about me is I'll give as good as I get, particuarly when people I care about are threatened. And I won't, can't, let him corrupt this neighborhood I've poured my heart into. My cafe is a sanctuary—not just for me but for others, especially for those trying to escape the shadows Marco and men like him have cast across the city. I've seen the bruises, the hunched shoulders, the hunted and haunted eyes of those seeking refuge within these walls.

I steel my resolve, even as an unwelcome thrill courses through me at the memory of Marco's powerful presence. Our first clash felt like it was only the beginning. With a man of his status, I can only imagine there will be more storms ahead, dangerous tempests of Marco's making. I shiver, uncomfortable with the interest he's taken in my cafe. And if he's interested in it, maybe so are other people who aren't so… incredibly attractive or polite.

I take a deep breath as I wipe down the cafe counter, trying to steady my rattled nerves after Marco's abrupt departure. The memory of his icy blue eyes and imposing presence still linger, sending an involuntary shiver through me. I know with uneasy certainty that my clash with Marco was only the first gust of the storm to come. His business, whatever its nature, is more than likely going to keep encroaching on my neighborhood. And I sense that Marco isn't a man who tolerates defiance for long.

There will be consequences for my show of resistance, I have no doubt of that. Men like him don't mess around, and violence—or even death—are not off the table. But I now understand I have reserves of strength I've never had to call upon before. When Marco returns—because I have no doubt he will—I'll be ready. I will do everything in my power to protect this community, this little island of light amidst gathering shadows.

Come what may, I refuse to retreat or yield to Marco's agenda. He has awoken something defiant and unbreakable within me. A fierce desire to protect what's mine and the people I care about. Let him come at me with the full fury of his underworld might; I'll show Marco what true strength looks like. My cafe, my community, are worth fighting for.

four

Alessia

I'm digging through my storage room, clearing out old boxes and clutter that have accumulated over the years. As I shift a heavy crate, a faded envelope flutters out. Curious, I pick it up and peel back the brittle seal. Inside is a black-and-white photograph of a young couple, their arms wrapped around each other, all smiles and laughter.

I don't recognize them at first, but as I study the woman's face, so similar to photos I've seen of my mother when she was younger, it hits me—this is a photo of my parents. But why was it stashed away, hidden from sight all these years?

My mind races as I examine the photo closely, taking in every detail. My parents look so carefree, so in love. Not at all like the solemn, burdened people I knew growing up. What happened to them? There's a date scrawled on the back—two years before I was born.

What don't I know about my family's past? About my parents' lives before me? I thought our world was always the family bakery and other hospitality enterprises, our family bound by routine and stability. But now questions swell inside me, breaking open the history I thought I knew.

There must be more photos, letters—clues about my family's hidden stories. I have to learn the truth. Gripping the photo tightly, I head upstairs, determined to search the above-cafe apartment from top to bottom. My parents' room. There must be answers there about who they were before responsibility and expectation weighed them down. Before I became their family burden, inheritor of secrets I'm now desperate to unveil. But first, there's something I have to do.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door to my grandmother's room, the photo clutched in my sweaty palm.

"Nonna Giulia? Can I come in?" My voice wavers slightly.

"Of course, dear."

I enter slowly. My grandmother sits in her favorite armchair, glasses perched on her nose as she reviews the cafe's books. I hover in the doorway, suddenly unsure.

"What is it, Alessia?" She peers at me over her glasses.

"I...I found this." I hold out the photo with trembling fingers. "Why was it hidden away?"

My grandmother's normally stoic face pales at the sight of it. She lays the books aside and beckons me over. I perch on the tufted ottoman, facing her.

"It's time you learned the truth about our family's past, Alessia. I never wanted to burden you with it, but I knew deep down that this day would inevitably come." She takes a shaky breath. "The Moretti name has a dark history, tied to the mafia. Your parents tried to break free from that world, but the ties were too deep. They—and later, I—spent years shielding you from it, hoping it would never chase you like it chased them."

I gasp, reeling in disbelief. Our family? Part of the mafia? It can't be real. We've always lived such a simple, quiet life doing simple work… at least, that's what I was led to believe. I saw it with my own eyes, participated in the modest existence of a family who lives to serve others. But my grandmother's somber eyes don't waver.

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