5: They'll come looking for you

“Sit,” he ordered quietly, gesturing toward the table he occupied earlier – the table with a single vase of red roses. I obeyed, lowering myself onto the couch, moving in. He followed, sitting very close to me.

Then he turned his head slightly. “Barista boy,” he said, his tone smooth but laced with authority.

“Make us two coffees.”

Dom stiffened, opening his mouth to protest, but Ana’s warning glance stopped him. He swallowed his pride. “Y-yes, Señor Morales.”

“Make them strong,” Santiago added. “She needs it.”

Ana moved quickly to help Dom, though her eyes kept flickering to me — worried, protective.

I heard Dom’s lowly complaint damning the name barista boy before the rest drowned under the hiss from the espresso machine.

Within minutes, the aroma of freshly pulled espresso filled the air again. Ana carried the tray over herself, careful not to spill, and placed the cups in front of us. Santiago nodded, satisfied, and she stepped back, hovering nearby. Santiago took a sip from his coffee, placing it firmly down with a soft clink.

“Now,” he announced. “I believe a formal introduction is in order.”

He took my hand, gently, halting right before his lips.

"Santiago Morales – as you already know"

he said, his Spanish accent wrapping around each syllable like silk over steel, "but most people call me El León."

There was something in the way he said it that told me they didn't call him that for nothing.

“And you, la nueva chica?”

“Valerie,” I said softly.

“Mm, Valería,” he tasted my name like it belonged to him. “It sounds like a name for an angel.”

He sealed the introduction with a soft kiss on my hand while maintaining eye contact before releasing it, slowly.

“Drink, mi ángel. Before it gets cold.”

As I was sipping on the scolding hot coffee, he called out. “Javier.”

Javier appeared instantly, already standing nearby with his daughter.

“My jacket in the staff room,” Santiago said. “It’s soaked. Could you please clean it while I finish my coffee?”

“Of course, Señor Morales.” Javier nodded once in respect before disappearing into the staff room.

Santiago then turned his gaze toward me again, with the same controlled calmness as before which made my heart drop. “We need to discuss what just happened – and your safety.”

“M-my safety?”

“Yes – Marek will be back.”

“Because you claimed me as yours?” The words ripped from my throat. He didn’t flinch. If anything, the corner of his mouth curved, just slightly.

“Claimed?” he said softly. “No, mi ángel. I protected you – there’s a difference.”

I set my cup down too hard. “You broke his hand – that feels more like marking territory than protection.”

Santiago chuckled. “I merely bruised it.” Then he tilted his head. “He touched you – a dog like Marek only understands pain. Now he knows what happens when he forgets his manners.” He leaned in closer, his breath a hot whisper against my hairline. “Besides, I saw you first.”

My breath caught, and I recoiled slightly. “I don’t belong to you, Señor Mora – Santiago,” his name lingered on my tongue. He smiled – slow, dangerous. “Say it again.”

“I – what?”

“My name,” he murmured. “Say it again, the way you just did.”

I hesitated. “Santiago.”

He exhaled, his eyes darkening.

“I don’t belong to you,” I repeated, forcing my voice steady. “You can’t just decide that.”

“Oh, mi ángel,” he laughed, sounding almost pitiful. “I think I already did – every eye in this café thinks you do. Marek thinks you do. And now his boss thinks it as well.” He leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of the couch until his fingertips brushed the ends of my hair.

My eyes widened. “What does that mean… for me?”

“Well,” he smiled faintly, his voice smooth. “You can’t come back here – not without my protection.”

“What? But I just started – I work here –“

“Not anymore,” he cut me off. “Marek won’t forget today. Or your face.” His other hand brushed my cheek, one finger slowly trailing down to my chin. “He’s going to tell his boss that El León defended a waitress – a pretty blonde – and they’ll start wondering why.” His finger hooked gently around my chin, making me meet his molten gaze. “Then they’ll come looking for you. For leverage.” He leaned in, his voice but a whisper now. “And when they do, they’ll find out you’re under me.”

I flinched at the phrasing. “Under your protection, you mean?”

His grin widened—wolfish, deliberate. “That’s one way to put it.”

I shook my head, breaking free of his grip. “You could fix this. Tell them I’m nothing to you.”

His gaze darkened. “Yes, I could… But where is the fun in that?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words failed me altogether. The rain, the faint hum of the espresso machine, even my pulse – it all fell silent.

Then Javier appeared, holding Santiago’s cleaned jacket in both hands. “Señor Morales, it’s ready.”

Santiago pulled back slowly, eyes still locked on me. “Gracias, Javier.” He stood, taking the jacket, folding it neatly over one arm. “I’ll cover today’s losses. And my shirt in the staff room – have it cleaned.”

“Yes, Señor Morales. Gracias.”

Santiago turned back to me. “Go change, Valería.”

I froze. “What?”

“We’re going to dinner – you like Spanish cuisine?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing mine. “Go change,” he repeated softly. “Before I decide to help you.”

The way he said it — low, edged with promise — sent a shiver racing through me. My throat tightened, but my body moved before my mind caught up. I turned and slipped into the staff room.

I changed into the white flower dress I had worn this afternoon – still a little damp from walking here in the rain. I caught my reflection in the mirror: blond damp curly hair, eyes wide, skin slightly pale. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

When I stepped back into the café, Santiago was waiting near the door, his jacket folded neatly over one arm. His gaze found me instantly, sweeping from head to toe with slow, measured interest. His lips curved.

“Better,” he murmured.

He crossed the floor toward me, his movements smooth, unhurried. When he reached me, he lifted the jacket and gently draped it over my shoulders. The warmth of it — his scent, dark spice and heat — made me dizzy.

“Ready?” He held out his hand to me, waiting for me to take it. But before I could, Ana stepped forward from behind the counter. “Señor Morales, please—she’s had enough. Let her rest.”

Santiago didn’t turn, didn’t raise his voice. “Ana.”

She froze.

“Your father owes me nothing after tonight,” he continued calmly. “Don’t make me think otherwise.”

Ana and I exchanged looks – hers were pleading, asking me to stay. But I feared the consequences if I did. So, I took it.

His grin was slow, satisfied. “Smart choice, mi ángel.”

He opened the door, his hand firm in mine as the bell chimed softly above us. Cold rain curled in through the gap, damp air kissing my skin.

“After you,” he murmured.

Halfway across the square, he paused and pulled me in close.

The rain fell mercilessly, tapping against the jacket he had draped over my shoulders. His hand settled at my waist, firm enough to stop me, gentle enough to make it look like I had chosen to stay.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. Testing.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move.

My hands rested against his chest, fingers curling into the damp fabric of his shirt. Not pushing him away. Not pulling him closer. Just holding on, as if the ground beneath me had tilted and he was the only solid thing left.

When his lips brushed mine, barely, softly, my breath caught.

I should have turned my face.

I should have stepped back.

But I didn’t.

I stood perfectly still while his mouth touched mine, while the warmth of him bled through the cold rain and wrapped around every frightened, confused part of me.

His kiss was slow. Careful. Almost patient.

I didn’t kiss him back.

But I didn’t stop him either.

And somehow, that felt even more dangerous.