The mid-morning rush at the cafe was winding down when the bell above the door chimed again. Pavani, wiping down the counter, glanced up briefly. Two men walked in, impeccably dressed in tailored suits that screamed wealth and arrogance. They surveyed the room with disdain before sauntering over to a table in the corner.

It wasn’t uncommon to get the occasional well-dressed snob in the cafe, but these men had an air about them that set Pavani on edge. Their voices carried as they snapped at the staff, demanding attention with the subtlety of a hammer.

“Is this how you treat customers? Useless,” one of them barked, smirking as he tapped his expensive watch. The other leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table with exaggerated impatience.

Pavani exchanged a glance with Mrs. Ruiz, the elderly cafe owner, who frowned deeply. “Don’t bother, dear,” Mrs. Ruiz said softly, her voice tinged with worry. “I’ll take care of it. They’re not worth the trouble.”

But Pavani shook her head. Something in her stirred—an anger she hadn’t felt in weeks, maybe months. She wasn’t in India anymore. She wasn’t supposed to cause a scene. Still, letting someone talk to Mrs. Ruiz’s staff like that didn’t sit right with her.

“I’ve got it,” Pavani replied, steeling herself.

She approached the table, keeping her face neutral despite the tension bubbling under her skin. “Good morning,” she said, her tone polite but firm. “What can I get for you?”

The men looked her over, their gazes lingering too long, making her skin crawl.

“Well, well,” the first man said, his lips curling into a mocking smile. “At least the staff here has some... visual appeal. Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all.”

Pavani’’s grip tightened on her notepad, but she forced herself to stay calm.

The second man chuckled, leaning forward. “What do you recommend, sweetheart? Or do you just smile and look pretty for tips?”

Pavani’s jaw clenched. Her instincts screamed at her to snap back, to put these men in their place. If this were India... she thought, the words unfinished but potent. She could almost picture it—the sharp crack of her fist, the satisfying silence that would follow. But that life was gone. She wasn’t that person anymore.

She opened her mouth to respond, but a voice cut through the air like a blade, deep and laced with biting sarcasm.

“Gentlemen. I’m sure you don’t want to ruin this meeting before it starts.”

The two men froze, their smug expressions faltering. Pavani turned toward the source of the voice and felt her breath hitch.

The man standing by the door was tall, dressed in a tailored black suit that exuded effortless elegance. His piercing eyes held a sharp edge, and the set of his jaw exuded authority. Dark hair, slicked back with precision, framed a face that was both striking and intimidating.

“Dante De Luca,” one of the men stammered, his confidence suddenly evaporating.

Dante De Luca. The name echoed in Pavani’s mind, though it meant nothing to her. Not yet.

He stepped closer, his movements controlled and deliberate, like a predator sizing up his prey. His gaze flicked briefly to Pavani, a flicker of curiosity in his otherwise stoic expression, before locking onto the two men.

“Is this how you spend your time?” Dante asked, his tone ice-cold. “Harassing cafe staff because you think it’s part of the negotiation process?”

“No, of course not,” the first man stammered, straightening in his seat. “We were just—”

“Spare me,” Dante interrupted, his voice sharp. “I don’t waste my time on deals with people who can’t show basic respect. Consider this meeting over.”

The men paled. “Mr. De Luca, wait. We can—”

“You can leave,” Dante said, his tone final.

Pavani watched in stunned silence as the men stumbled out of the cafe, their arrogance replaced with fear and desperation. The cafe door swung shut behind them, leaving an uneasy quiet in their wake.

Dante turned back to her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she felt like he could see through her, past the polite mask she wore, straight into the secrets she tried so hard to hide.

“You didn’t have to deal with that,” he said finally, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “Not your job.”

Pavani straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I can handle it,” she said evenly, though her heart was racing.

One corner of his mouth lifted in the faintest hint of a smile, and then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

As the door swung shut behind him, Pavani released a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Who was that?” she asked Mrs. Ruiz, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Ruiz gave her a sharp look, her eyes wide with something that looked like fear. “That’s Dante De Luca. CEO of De Luca Enterprises. And someone you don’t want to cross, dear.”