Hidden Mafia

When you thought of what a protagonist in a story needed to make them the main character, usually you would think they needed to have something special about them; I believe they needed to have something wrong with them.

Typically, you would think a protagonist needed to be strong, or kind, or smart. Something – anything – that would make them stand out in a crowd. But that was Fairytale logic. We graduated from that, right?

Realistically, there were a million strong people out there, there were numerous – although not as many as there should be – kind people around, and there were countless smart people. But none of them were leading their own story, were they? Not one that people like us would care about, at least. Their stories were too boring. They were too perfect.

It was when the protagonist had something wrong with them that we started paying attention. Probably because we liked to see people suffer. It made us believe that what we were going through wasn’t all that bad. We would survive.

Even if what we were surviving was only customer service.

I smiled politely, ignoring the uncomfortable buzz of anxiety that was currently petting my spine, and prayed that by the end of this lovely old man’s rant he would have calmed himself down. That happens. Although rarely.

Praying for a miracle every now and then wasn’t a horrible habit.

The old man hit his cane against the worn countertop. It had been broken-in over time, but not broken-in enough that the mark made by the end of his metal walking stick wouldn’t be visible.

I poured a bit more concern into my smile just so he knew I did feel bad. To a degree. I was always a bit nervous that I had gotten too comfortable in my customer service mask and would end up looking robotic, which wouldn’t help this situation.

The customers in the line behind him all groaned, crossing their arms or whispering to their neighbors. A few of them looked like they might have said something – like they wanted to say something – but held back due to the fact that this man looked to be in his eighties, if not nineties.

It wasn’t often that I got customers like this. I worked in a little bookstore, café mix, Bookish Brews. It got a surprising amount of customers despite being neatly tucked away down some alley. Most people just came here to read, so they would order quietly and sit in silence. It was nice. I missed that kind of customer.

If we did get bothersome customers, they weren’t like this. They flirted a bit – not because they were into me but because they liked to see women fall at their feet – and maybe got a bit annoyed if I didn’t flare up in immediate desire.

I may not fit into the mold of what is socially considered beauty, but that didn’t mean I would fall for anyone who showed me a moderate amount of attention. That would be horrible. Those men didn’t typically stick around for long, either.

The boss – who came by so rarely that in my three years of working here I had yet to meet him – was apparently a big business tycoon. He built a place in the back of this shop to hold meetings in a more “quiet and personal” environment. Or so my manager said.

I felt the coating of liquid fall over my skin before I felt the searing heat. The old man had apparently noticed I wasn’t paying attention – or just didn’t like that I wasn’t groveling for his forgiveness – and decided to throw his freshly brewed coffee onto me.

I took a few steps back and let out a string of low curses as the coffee melted away my polite mask. I ripped my apron off and used the dry corner to pat what had gotten onto the skin of my arm. I looked up at the old man who had gone silent. He stared at me in shock, like he couldn’t believe he had just thrown freshly brewed coffee at a young girl simply because there wasn’t enough sugar in it.

With all due respect, sir, you could have all the sugar in the world and it wouldn’t be enough to sweeten you up.

At least he did look guilty. I had a feeling that was more due to the fact that I could now press assault charges on him. Tempting but not worth it. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

The man’s cane finally found the ground again. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “You ignorant girl. If you had just done things right then this wouldn’t have escalated so much.” He glared down his nose at me and I had to fight back to urge to do the same.

If I were to be the main character, my flaw would probably be that I let people walk all over me. Not that I couldn’t stand up for myself. I was just not a fan of confrontation, so I would prefer to let people get their way and move on with their lives. Not the best trait for a protagonist, though.

I smiled and straightened my poster. The burn had soaked into my skin and the initial shock of it was gone, so the pain was bearable until I could deal with this old man.

Before I could even respond, I was cut off.

“How the hell is this her fault?” A young man glared down at the older one.

This man was definitely my favorite out of the boss’ business associates. He seemed to be a few years older than me – I’m twenty-four – and looked like he was made personally by the hands of god. He towered over everyone; he was at least six feet, maybe even 6’3” and had a seriously dangerous physique. He was muscular in a way that was obvious he actually used the muscles under his perfectly tailored suit.

I really shouldn’t be ogling the customers while I was working, but holy hell this guy was hot. And I only saw him at work.

His hair was the color of ink and always pushed back and out of his face, but, from what I could tell, it was just long enough to reach his eyes. And his eyes. Don’t get me started; they could melt a person if they looked into them for too long. They were the most outstanding shade of green, this deep jade color that could draw someone in like a siren’s voice drew in a pirate.

He had never been one for conversation. His eyes were always glued to his phone or paperwork and never said more than he needed to. But he was always polite when he did. He was always flanked by two other men in simple black suits, while his usually varied between browns, blues, and grays.

The first time he came in I was stunned. I was a stuttering mess, tripping over my words and feet while trying to take his order but he never raised his voice. I wasn’t good at being yelled at, and that was when I had just started here, so, if he did yell, I probably would’ve cried. Instead, he just put his phone away and leveled me with a glare. Albeit, much softer than the one he was currently laying on the old man, but it was still terrifying.

“You losing your temper and throwing a freshly brewed cup of coffee onto a woman, who hadn’t even argued back, isn’t her fault.” His gaze shifted to my arm, where I still held the apron in hopes of drying up the heat.

I subconsciously shifted so my arm was out of his view. His eyes flicked up to mine with something dark swelling in them before he turned his eyes back to the man. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Don’t come back.”

“W-what?” The old man stuttered, and I could see the slight tremble in his body while under the glare of those jade eyes.

It was understandable. The look in his eyes was terrifying enough that I could believe he’d killed before.

“I paid for a coffee; I expect to get one.” To the old man’s credit, he didn’t back away.

“You did.” He glanced at me. “And you threw it at the person who made it for you. Get out.” His voice lowered and before the man could protest, the two suited men who stood behind Jade Eyes took him by the arms and led him out.

Jade Eyes skipped the line and reached the counter in two clean strides.