The scent of dark roast and glazed orange scones filled the air as I slid the fresh pastry trays into the glass case. A batch of turkey-sausage breakfast wraps warmed in the convection oven behind me, and the espresso machine hissed to life as Trina ran its first calibration shot.
She moved as she always did—efficiently, briskly, like she was just a little annoyed. Her ponytail was pulled tight, and her long nails tapped a rhythm on the touchscreen register, preparing it for the morning rush. I grabbed a stack of cups and started stocking the front counter.
“Well,” Trina muttered, not looking up from the register, “I guess our most important customer decided he’s done with us thanks to you.”
I glanced over from where I was lining up the lids. “Who?”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Please. Tall, Russian, glacial, hotter-than-hell with that wholevillainvibe. The guy who tips like twenties are quarters.”
My stomach dipped. I looked away.
Trina kept going. “Hasn’t been in since Friday. I’m gonna miss those bills he’d throw on the table every time I waited on him. Shame he got chased off by your sassy mouth and hateful glares.”
I bristled. “I wasn’t being sassy. I was just trying to take his order.”
Trina snorted. “You basically called him emotionally constipated in front of the morning-rush crowd.”
I ignored the flutter in my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coyly, knowing it would piss her off.
“Sure you don’t.” She grabbed a rag and started wiping down the milk fridge. “I’m just saying…men like him don’t tolerate disrespect. Not from servers with too much attitude and too little common sense.”
“That’s enough, Trina,” Carmine said, his voice edged with warning. He stood with his back to us behind the counter, placing some croissants onto a tiered rack.
She rolled her eyes.
I moved behind the counter and started prepping the to-go cups. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just tried to take his damn order,” I whisper-shouted.
“Humph,didn’t do anything wrong,” Trina scoffed. “Girl, you challenged him as though you wanted a throwdown in the back alley.”
“Shut your traps,” Carmine threw over his shoulder.
I straightened, tightening a cup sleeve. “I only made a comment after he said really derogatory things to me. He wasrude to me first. Not to mention threatening.” I was determined to have the last word.
“He’s a customer,” Trina growled. “And not just any customer. He doesn’t come here for the banter, sweetheart. Especially not the kind where a waitress gets in his face.”
“I wasn’t in his face.”
“You practically climbed across his table.”
“Knock it off!” Carmine roared, turning from the rack with a scowl. “Both of you.”
We froze.
He glared at Trina. “You’ve been riding her since she walked in. Cut it out.” Then at me. “And you—just keep your mouth shut. If that man doesn’t come back, it’s his choice and not your concern. Besides, you don’t want to attract his attention.”
I swallowed hard and joined them behind the back counter. “I don’t even know who he is.”
“And you don’t want to,” Carmine said without looking up.
I hesitated. “But you and Trina do.”
He slid a tray of bagels into the case, adjusted it, and then finally met my eyes.
“Drop it,” he said sharply. “That man? He doesn’t exist on paper. No socials. No records. No past you can dig up that doesn’t come with a body count.”
My blood ran cold.
Trina took a step closer and leaned toward me, her eyes gleaming with mockery. “Ever heard of the wordbratva, country girl?”
