4: It's Friday

The espresso was done, thanks to Dom’s secretly guidance, and I had placed it on the tray, balancing it carefully out toward Santiago – turning, smiling softly to Ana and Dom, whispering wish me luck – when the doorbell rung, as it had so many times already today. But this time, Ana’s eyes widened in horror, and she muttered “Mi*rda…” Dom’s eyes widened as well before they sharpened, his arm tugging Ana protectively behind him.

I turned to look at whoever got them rattled and flinched at the sight of a man standing right behind me, blocking my way. He was tall, dark-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and had a vicious scar across his left eye. He was wearing a white shirt underneath a dark leather jacket, soaked in rain. He took one look at me, smiling with a worrisome hunger, before looking toward the counter. “Ana.” His voice was low and cold, carrying an Eastern-European accent, maybe Polish. “It’s Friday.” His eyes were unnervingly icy.

Ana clung to Dom’s arm without shifting her gaze, calling faintly, “Papá?”

Javier appeared from the kitchen, still with an apron on.

He clapped his hands together twice, dusting off some flour.

“Sí, hija?” He looked at his daughter with kind eyes, who stood frozen in fear. Then he followed her gaze to the scarred man, still standing right in front of me.

“Marek Kowalczyk,” he said, voice flat. “You’re early.”

“It’s Friday,” Marek repeated. “I’m right on time.”

“My friend,” Javier forced a polite smile. “Tell Wiktor I will have it… next week.”

Marek’s expression darkened. “Not a friend, Javier. Business. And I’m afraid we’ll need it today, not next week.”

“Sí, sí, of course.” Javier spread his hands, his voice shaky. “It’s been quiet this week. I just need more time –“

“You’ve said that before.” Marek grinned though he didn’t sound amused.

“Marek, por favor –”

“I said,” Marek cut him off. “I want the money. Now.”

Then his attention slid back to me, lingering with an ugly curiosity. “Or I take collateral.”

A chill rippled up my spine. I took a half step back – but he caught me. His hand shot out like a serpent and locked itself around my wrist causing me to drop the tray with the espresso, cup shattering and coffee spilling across the tiles for the second time today.

“Let her go!” Ana shouted, but Marek just laughed, yanking me closer.

“Don’t worry, I’m just borrowing her.”

And then — the air shifted.

Santiago’s chair scraped back, slow and deliberate. His footsteps echoed against the tile. Every conversation in the café died instantly.

“Release her,” Santiago’s voice cut through the room like thunder.

“Ah, El León,” Marek’s grin was menacing. “You just happened to be out enjoying coffee on collecting day – coincidence? Or are you playing doorman for a simple baker?”

I could hear Santiago moving closer behind me with slow, deliberate steps.

“That simple baker is my friend, and I actually happen to like this café.” His footsteps stopped a few paces behind me. “Last chance, Marek: Let... her… go!”  He dragged out the last words, pausing between each word to emphasize the warning, each syllable cutting cleanly through the café.

Marek’s grip tightened, bone deep. “Make me.”

In a blur, Santiago moved — one hand catching Marek’s wrist, twisting sharply until I heard a sickening snap. Marek shouted in pain, releasing me instantly. I stumbled backwards, Ana catching me.

Santiago’s other hand slammed against Marek’s chest, pinning him to the nearest table. The impact rattled every cup around them.

“You dare touch what’s mine?” Santiago hissed, his voice low and lethal.

“You think she’s yours?” Marek’s smirk returned, colder this time, while he tried to wrench loose. “Interesting.”

“Shut your mouth.” Santiago’s hand tightened on Marek’s, pain flashing across his face.

“If you want to leave here alive, El Lobo – you apologize.”

Marek laughed. “You want me to be silent – or to speak, kitty cat?”

Santiago leaned in, pressing Marek further against the table. Wood creaked. “Apologize. Now.”

“Apologize?” Marek tilted his head, scar pulling. “To a baker?” He switched to Polish – low, contemptuous. “Zejdź mi z oczu.” Get out of my sight.

Santiago didn’t blink. “Yes. You will apologize to a simple baker.”

Marek spat a word I didn’t understand, trying to wrench free again.

The table creaked, and I’m sure I heard something snap again.

“Try again,” Santiago said.

Marek glared at Javier.

“Przepraszam.” His voice was flat.

“Better,” Santiago said, amused.

But then Marek’s eyes shifted to me, smiling viciously.

“Next Friday, little lamb,” he said, his voice sent shivers down my spine. “Wear a red dress.”

“Get out,” Santiago sneered, catching Marek by the collar. “Before I forget that Javier has customers watching.” Santiago yanked him upwards and pushed him toward the door.

Marek stumbled back, eyes wide, clutching his hand to his chest. He looked between Santiago and Javier, fury twisting his features. “Morales,” he hissed through his teeth, anger seething through. “You’ll regret this.” Santiago didn’t respond. He just flashed a devilish smile.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound swallowed by the storm outside.

“Javier,” Santiago said. “Maybe close for the day.”

Javier nodded once in respect. “Yes, Señor Morales.”

He flipped the wooden sign: CERRADO.

People got up to leave without complaining. Javier smiled politely, mumbling “mis disculpas” repeatedly.

As the last customer slipped out into the rain, the café fell utterly silent.

The only sounds were the wind outside and the faint hum of the espresso machine cooling down.

“Ana,” Santiago said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Lock the door.”

Ana, still clutching me, let go hesitantly, lightly darting from the counter across the floor to the door.

The click of the bolt echoed through the empty café.

Then Santiago turned his gaze to me — calm, controlled, terrifyingly quiet.

“You,” he said, the word more command than name. “Come with me.”

My heart sank. Because the way he said it — calm, deliberate — didn’t sound like concern.

It sounded like a sentence.