Prologue

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Prologue

*Warning explicit content*

Lola knows something is wrong as soon as the men step into the little cafe: Their dark, brooding presence make her uneasy, their large frames, expressionless faces and the same uniform suits; all cause an unsettling feeling in Lola's stomach. She watches as one of the four turns to the nearest employee-Martha and demand in a low voice to see the owner. The sense of trouble rings through Lola as she sees the poor girl visibly pale at the question and stutter out a response that doesn't seem to sit well with the men.

Quickly, Lola darts to the man before he can cause uproar of commotion.
"Can I help you, Sir?" she asks, giving a tight smile at the stone set man.
"We need to have a talk with the owner," he coldly responds.
"I'm afraid my father is not well at the moment. But whatever it is I'm sure I can help you out on his behalf," Lola replies with the same detached professional tone.
The man narrows his eyes momentarily before flicking them at his 'friends'.
"No, we must speak with him, only," insists the man.
"Well, that's not possible at the moment," Lola retorts back. The man leans down to her height, his voice going even lower.
"Listen, sweetheart. We wanna talk to your father. So either you f*cking call him, or we will shoot this whole f*cking place down and go on up there," he hisses, parting his jacket slightly to show his gun.
"Listen here, you big oaf! Don't you dare come into my cafe and start threatening me!" she snarls back in the same whispered tone so as to not attract anymore unwanted attention. The man gives the little chit a malicious scowl as he goes to dig into his jacket to bring out the promised weapon.

Lola gulps slightly, and presses her hands together to stop them shaking. The crazy fool wouldn't really start shooting would he?...Would he?!
Just as he's about to draw the weapon out, a hand rests on his shoulder, seizing his movements.

"Now, now, Frankie. I don't think the little girl knows what she's saying," sings a low voice.

Lola glares up at the owner. How dare he call her a little girl! At 22, she's no little girl! As she glares into the glittering silver, grey eyes, framed by thick black lashes, her own eyes widen a little in shock. He's absolutely gorgeous. In a dangerous, deadly way. Unlike his goons, his own suit is navy blue and fitted perfectly to emphasis a tall, lean muscular frame. His skin a light bronze, a little darker than caramel but just as tempting. Then there's his face. His face...Oh God. Lola nears groans at such a jagged yet hauntingly beautiful face. Thick black bushy eyebrows and slanted cheekbones, with a few strands of his dark black hair flickering at his forehead, his nose is crooked and lips are a dusty pink, and lusciously full. A lighter line of skin cuts across his left eyebrow up, and Lola can't help but find that little scar even more so appealing. From his appearance, one thing is clear. He is certainly not someone you mess with.

"Boss," grunts the oaf who had threatened Lola.
"I apologize for my employees, Miss Beaumont. Do you have an office or somewhere private where we may discuss matters?" he asks politely. Lola's gaze falters not expecting the politeness, especially after hearing his employees.
"Um...yeah, this way," she murmurs leading them through the cafe, through the hallway, past the stock room, freezer and into the tiny office. She clears some of the papers and offers a seat to the stranger opposite the desk.
The man sits down and relaxes into the chair, as his four employees, stand around him all stood stiff and suspicious. Lola darts her eyes around them before residing her gaze on their employer.

"You are?" she prompts.
"My name is Carlos Castellano. My father is Don Castellano," the man says slowly.
Lola's eyebrows scrunch in confusion. She doesn't understand who the man is or what he's doing in the family cafe. She's never seen him in her life and she sure as hell wouldn't ever get involved with someone like him.
"What do you want? Why are you here?" she questions.
"Look bambina. This is a matter for men. Call your father-"
"I am not doing that! Whatever you need to tell him, you can tell me," defiantly states Lola causing Carlos to narrow his eyes and curl his lips in a small scowl.
"Do not interrupt me, Miss Beaumont. I do not like being interrupted. Nor do I like defiance," snarls the man.
Lola just rolls her eyes. What an ass.
"And I don't like brutish Neanderthals wasting my time. So either tell me what it is you need to talk to my father about or kindly leave," spits out Lola, feeling her own patience being used up.
The man glances to his goons and nods his head. Lola watches as they exit out and close the door behind them. The soft click seems to be amplified as the tension in the cramped office sizzles.

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