Touch of a monster

Chapter One

TOUCH OF A MONSTER

The bell above the door jingled for the fourth time in five minutes. A breeze trailed in after the customer, swirling around Ava Moreno’s ankles as she balanced a tray stacked with two burgers, fries, and a glass of Coke already sweating in the heat.

“Order up—table six,” she said, nudging the swinging kitchen door open with her hip.

“God, do they breed people in factories around here?” her best friend, Nico James, muttered behind the counter, flipping through tickets. “I swear they multiply the second we blink.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t flirt with every girl who says ‘extra ketchup,’ we’d actually move faster.”

He grinned, a dimple digging into his left cheek. “Flirting is how I keep my edge, Ava.”

She didn’t have time to toss a comeback. The couple at table six was already eyeing her like she held the cure to hunger.

She slid the tray down with a practiced ease, smiled, and made sure not to spill Coke on anyone this time. Lesson learned.

Back at the counter, Nico handed her another ticket. “Three iced teas, a Greek salad, and one guy who looked like he hasn’t blinked since he sat down.”

Ava glanced at the table. The man in question sat alone, wearing all black, the kind of presence that turned heads even without trying. He hadn't taken his sunglasses off, even inside. Weird. But hey, weird paid tips.

“Don’t stare,” Nico muttered, poking her side. “He’s hot, but also kind of terrifying. Mafia vibes.”

She laughed. “You watch too many movies.”

“Just saying. If I disappear tonight, tell my mom I love her.”

Ava filled the drink glasses and nudged him out of the way. “Move, Romeo.”

The tray was cool in her hand, balanced on her palm as she weaved through tables, dodging toddlers, elbows, and napkins on the floor. She was good at this part—walking, smiling, pretending the ache in her feet wasn’t real.

The man didn’t look up when she reached him. His jaw was sharp, mouth set in a line like he hadn’t smiled in a decade. His fingers were curled around the edge of the table, relaxed but firm. Still, he didn’t seem like the yelling type. That was something.

“Hey there,” she said lightly, setting the drinks down. “Three iced teas, salad’s on the way. Anything else you need?”

Nothing.

Ava blinked. “Sir?”

He didn't answer, and she left half hearted.

Ava handed a grilled cheese to a kid in a Spider-Man hoodie, tousled his hair gently, and turned back toward the table in the corner.

Empty.

Her steps slowed.

The iced teas sat untouched, sweating into their coasters. The salad hadn’t even made it out of the kitchen yet, and the man in black—gone. No sound, no goodbye, no jingle of the bell.

“Weird,” she muttered.

But then her eyes dropped to the table.

Folded under one of the glasses was a thick wad of cash. She pulled it out, flipped through it, and then froze. “Nico,” she called, voice low.

He poked his head out from the back, holding a ketchup bottle like a weapon. “Is it a mouse? Please tell me it’s not a mouse. I can’t do rodents today.”

She walked up to the counter and smacked the money down. “He left this.”

Nico’s eyes bulged. “That’s… how much is that?”

“Five hundred dollars,” she said, still staring at it. “The bill was twelve.”

“Girl, what kind of service were you giving over there?”

“Shut up.”

He leaned on the counter, grinning. “I mean, come on. You gotta admit—it’s flattering.”

“Or insulting,” she murmured. “Like he was trying to get rid of me. Like...hush money.”

“Then I hope every customer hushes you with five hundred bucks.”

She was about to reply when the bell over the door rang again. Another man walked in, older, maybe mid-forties, with a comb-over and a friendly smile. He took a seat near the window and picked up a menu.

Nico nodded at him. “Go get him, waitress of the year.”

Ava grabbed a pot of fresh coffee and walked over with her pad. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I start you off with something?”

“Just coffee for now,” the man said, glancing over the menu. “And maybe a smile.”

She gave a tight one, started pouring—and her elbow caught the edge of the tray behind her.

The coffee pot slipped.

In one terrible, slow-motion second, she turned to grab it, missed, and—

The scalding liquid hit something solid. Dark. Unmoving.

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t the man at the table.

It was him.

Leo Moretti.

He stood there, tall and silent, like he’d never left. His black shirt was soaked, the coffee bleeding through fabric and down to his expensive pants. The smell of dark roast clung to the air.

Ava’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God—I didn’t—”

Nico’s face drained of color. “Oh no.”

Leo looked down at the mess on his chest. Slowly.

The room went dead silent. Even the ceiling fan seemed to pause.

Then he looked up.

Not at Nico. Not at the coffee.

At her.

His voice was low and sharp, the kind that didn’t need to rise to scare the life out of someone.

“Everyone out.”

People didn’t argue. Chairs scraped. Doors swung. One guy left his fries behind.

Nico stepped forward. “Okay, look, man, it was an accident—”

“Now,” Leo said again, like he owned the walls.

Within seconds, the restaurant emptied out like a fire drill.

Ava stood frozen, heart pounding, fingers sticky with coffee. Her mouth moved but nothing came out.

Leo didn’t say another word.

And that was somehow worse than yelling.

The door closed behind the last customer.

And suddenly, she was alone with a man who had the power to kill her and the silence was deafening.