Her Dark Obsession

The gun was already pointed at her father's head when Bianca realized she had made a terrible mistake.

But let me back up. Just a little. Because thirty minutes ago, everything had been normal.

Thirty minutes ago, Bianca was washing coffee cups and thinking about candles.

The cafe was finally empty after the dinner rush. Her hands moved on autopilot, scrubbing at the dishes while her mind wandered to the ritual waiting for them at home. Nineteen years. Nineteen years since her mother died, and every single year on this day, she and her father lit candles in their cramped living room and sat in silence, remembering a woman Bianca barely had memories of anymore.

When she was six, the ritual had terrified her. All those candles in different colors, flickering in the darkness while her father cried. She used to think they were summoning something. Now at twenty-five, Bianca was the one who bought the candles. She arranged them herself, and sometimes she cried too.

Tonight, they needed to get home early. The candles were already waiting.

"Bianca, we should close up now." Her father's voice drifted over from the register where he was counting the day's earnings.

"Almost done." Bianca dried the last cup and walked to the front door. She flipped the sign to "Closed" and locked the deadbolt. There. Done.

She turned back toward the counter and froze.

Her father was staring at something behind her. His face had gone completely white. Not pale. White. Like every drop of blood had drained straight out of his body.

"Dad?" Bianca's voice came out smaller than she wanted it to. "Dad, what is wrong?"

He did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the door, wide and terrified, and his hands had started shaking so badly that bills were slipping through his fingers.

Bianca spun around.

The door she had just locked was opening.

A woman walked in first. She wore red. Bright, blood red. A blazer and pants that probably cost more than everything in Bianca's closet combined. Behind her, four men filed in wearing identical black suits, moving like soldiers.

"We are closed!" Bianca found her voice and it came out angry. "I just locked the door. You need to leave."

The woman in red did not even glance at her. She walked straight to the center of the cafe and stopped, her eyes scanning the room like she owned it.

Something cold slithered down Bianca's spine.

"Did you hear me?" Bianca stepped forward. "We are closed. Get out."

Finally, the woman looked at her. Really looked at her. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and they moved over Bianca's face slowly. Her lips curved into something that was not quite a smile.

"Get me a coffee," the woman said. Her voice was smooth. Cultured.

Bianca blinked. "What?"

"I said, get me a coffee." The woman walked to the nearest table and sat down. "Is that too difficult for you to understand?"

Heat flooded Bianca's face. "We are closed. There is no more coffee. We cleaned the machines."

Behind the counter, her father made a small sound. A whimper, almost. Bianca glanced back at him and her stomach dropped. He looked like he was about to be sick.

"Dad, what is going on?"

"There." The woman pointed at the counter. "I can see a cup right there. Bring it to me."

Bianca followed her finger and saw the cup she had forgotten about. Old coffee from an hour ago, cold and probably bitter by now.

Fine. If it would make this woman leave faster, fine.

Bianca grabbed the cup and walked over to the table. She set it down with more force than necessary, and some of the cold coffee sloshed over the rim.

"Here. One coffee. Now leave."

The woman picked up the cup. She lifted it to her lips, tilted it slightly, and then stopped. Her eyes met Bianca's over the rim, and something in that gaze made Bianca's breath catch.

Then the woman turned the cup over and poured the entire thing onto the floor.

Coffee splattered across the clean tiles Bianca had just mopped. It spread in a dark puddle around the woman's expensive shoes.

"Oops," she said.

Bianca felt something snap inside her chest. "Are you insane?" She stormed back to the supply closet and grabbed the mop. "What is wrong with you? Who does that?"

She started mopping up the mess, her movements jerky and aggressive. "You walk into a closed cafe, you demand coffee, and then you dump it on the floor like some kind of spoiled child? Do you have any idea how disrespectful that is?"

The woman watched her with that same unsettling smile. "Are you finished?"

"No, I am not finished! You come in here on today of all days and act like you own the place. Well, you do not own anything. This is our cafe. Mine and my father's. And you need to leave before I call the police."

"Your cafe?" The woman's smile widened. "Is that what you think?"

Something in her tone made Bianca stop mopping. She looked up slowly and found the woman staring at her father now. And her father was staring back with that same terrified expression.

"Dad?" Bianca's voice wavered. "Dad, who is this woman?"

Her father opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The woman stood up from her chair. She walked toward Bianca's father with slow, measured steps, and the four men in black suits moved with her, forming a semicircle around him. Trapping him.

"Stop." Bianca dropped the mop and moved toward them, but one of the suited men stepped into her path, blocking her. He was massive. "Get away from my father."

"Your father and I have business to discuss." The woman stopped directly in front of him. She reached out and touched his face, almost gently, and he flinched. "Do we not, Marcus?"

Marcus. She knew his name.

Bianca's heart was pounding now. "What business? What are you talking about?"

"Nineteen years ago, this man came to me. He needed money. His wife was dying. Cancer. The doctors said there was a treatment that might save her, but it was expensive. Insurance would not cover it." The woman's voice was calm, almost casual. "He begged me. Got down on his knees and begged. So I gave him two hundred thousand dollars. And do you know what he gave me in return?"

Bianca could not breathe.

"This cafe. The house you live in. Everything. And a promise that he would pay me back within ten years. With interest."

"That is a lie." Bianca's voice came out as a whisper. "Dad, tell her that is a lie."

But her father was crying now. Silent tears running down his face.

"The treatment did not work. His wife died anyway. And suddenly, Marcus decided he did not owe me anything anymore. So he stopped making payments. The interest accumulated." She pulled a folded paper from her jacket. "He now owes me two point three million dollars."

The number hung in the air like smoke.

"I do not believe you," Bianca said, but her voice shook.

The woman unfolded the paper and held it out. "The contract. Signed by your father. Would you like to read it?"

Bianca snatched the paper. Her eyes scanned the words. She saw her father's signature at the bottom. She saw the amount. Two hundred thousand. She saw the interest rate.

The paper slipped from her fingers.

"Dad?" Her voice broke. "Dad, please say something."

"I am sorry." His voice was barely audible. "Bianca, I am so sorry."

The woman snapped her fingers, and one of the suited men pulled out a gun. He pointed it directly at her father's head.