Chapter 2.

ELENA

My apartment was a welcome sight. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts. The weight of my responsibilities pressed down on me. Debts, my brother, my father... It was a relentless cycle.

The message from Sarah still lingered in my mind. A night out was the last thing I wanted, but Sarah had a way of persuading me. I knew I couldn't say no, not on my birthday.

The thought of facing Sarah's relentless enthusiasm was enough to make me chuckle. She was a force to be reckoned with. I glanced at the clock; it was almost time.

As the hour approached, I prepared myself for the night ahead. A knock on the door signaled Sarah's arrival. She beamed at me, her excitement infectious.

"Ready to celebrate, Elena?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"Let's do it," I replied, summoning a smile. If there was anyone who could pull me out of my thoughts, it was Sarah.

We ventured out into the night, the city alive with energy. It was a stark contrast to the quietude of my cafe and apartment. Sarah led the way, her laughter mingling with the sounds of the bustling streets.

The club was pulsing with music and movement. Sarah wasted no time in immersing herself in the crowd, pulling me along with her.

As the night wore on, I found myself grateful for Sarah's insistence. It was exactly what I needed, a break from the weight of my responsibilities.

As the clock struck midnight, Sarah raised her glass in a toast. "To you, Elena. To another year of strength and resilience."

The club was a swirl of lights and music, the atmosphere electric. I excused myself from Sarah for a moment, claiming a sudden need to catch my breath. As I moved through the crowd, my thoughts raced, the events of the night still playing on my mind.

Turning at a corner, I collided with a solid figure. I looked up, finding myself face-to-face with a tall, imposing man surrounded by his companions. Recognition dawned on me, and my heart pounded. These were the same men from the cafe, the ones who had been so rude.

"You!" on of them declared, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You're the one from the cafe."

I squared my shoulders, refusing to back down. "And you're the one who was rude."

The man's eyes narrowed, his goons shifting uncomfortably around him. "You bumped into us. You owe us an apology."

"Apologize? It's your fault for following me here. I won't apologize for your stalking." I retorted, attempting to walk away.

Before I could react, a strong hand gripped my wrist, yanking me back. It was him, the man who seemed to be the leader or the goons. Disgust surged through me, and without a second thought, I raised my free hand and delivered a resounding slap across his face.

The club seemed to still for a heartbeat, the thumping music a distant pulse in my ears. The man's companions bristled, but he held up a restraining hand, halting them from advancing. He met my gaze with steely resolve, his jaw clenched.

"Enough," he growled, his voice a low warning.

With one last glare, I wrenched my hand free and turned on my heel, striding away with purpose. The night air outside was a welcome relief, cool against my heated skin. I didn't look back, trusting that the man's pride wouldn't allow him to pursue me further.

Just as I turned the corner, my phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. It was my father calling, an unusual occurrence at this hour.

************

Marco De Luca, a man of commanding presence, sat in the dimly lit lounge surrounded by his capos. His sharp jawline and piercing steel-gray eyes spoke of authority, matched only by the tailored elegance of his charcoal suit. The air around him seemed to crackle with restrained power.

His thoughts was fixed on the scene that had just happened before him. The lounge was a swirling sea of laughter and luxury,

women surrounded him. Among them, a red-haired hottie moved on to him, running her hands on his groin. But Marco's gaze was distant, his thoughts consumed by a different matter entirely.

With utter disgust he dismissed all the ladies away, throwing the redhead off him.

"What's eating at you, boss?" Vinny, Marco's trusted right-hand man, asked cautiously.

Marco's fingers drummed a rhythm on the arm of his chair. "That woman," he ground out, his voice low and seething. "She has guts."

Vinny raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking towards the entrance. "The one from the cafe?"

Marco's jaw clenched. "Yes, her."

As the night wore on, Marco retreated into his thoughts, He knew he'd cross paths with her again. Fate had a way of playing its hand, after all.

"I'll see her again," he murmured to himself, the edge of determination coloring his tone. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and Elena was no exception.