The restaurant smelled like expensive wine and money. Rachel had gotten used to that smell by now.
She moved between the tables in her black dress, carrying a tray of drinks. Her blonde hair was tied up, and her feet already hurt even though she'd only been working for two hours. The heels were killing her, but the customers tipped better when she looked put together. That's what her manager Derek always said.
"Table seven needs their appetizers," Derek called from the kitchen, not even looking at her. He never looked at her unless he was giving her an order.
Rachel nodded and headed to the back. She was used to being invisible here. People looked at her, yeah, but they didn't really see her. They saw a pretty face that smiled at them while they ordered overpriced food. That was fine with her. She needed this job. The pay was shit, but the tips were good, and she had rent to pay. The house she rented wasn't much, just a one-bedroom place on the edge of the city, but it was hers. She'd worked for two years to save up for the deposit.
The kitchen was hot and loud. She grabbed the appetizer plates from Marcus, one of the cooks. He was nice, always made sure her food was perfect.
"You okay?" he asked, looking at her face.
"Yeah, just tired," she said.
She wasn't really tired. She was just used to pretending everything was fine. That was easier than explaining anything real to people.
The restaurant was packed tonight. It was Friday, and the wealthy people liked coming here on Fridays. It was exclusive, expensive. You had to know the right people to get a reservation, or you had to have serious money. Rachel had worked here long enough to know the difference between the two.
She delivered the appetizers and smiled at the customers. They barely acknowledged her. She was used to that too.
Around nine o'clock, a group of men came in. They were loud, laughing, acting like they owned the place. The waiters rushed to seat them at one of the best tables. One of the men was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with an expensive suit and an arrogant smile. He looked like the type who got everything he wanted just by asking for it. His name was Dominic. She'd heard one of his friends call him that.
The other man came in behind the group but didn't seem to be part of it. He was tall, maybe late twenties, with dark hair and a dark suit that actually fit him properly. He didn't say much, just followed the group to the table and sat down. Something about him made Rachel notice. He had this presence, like the air changed when he walked into a room. She'd never felt that before.
She told herself to stop looking and focus on work.
It was nearly closing time when Dominic grabbed her as she was walking to the restroom. He was drunk, his hands rough.
"Where are you going, beautiful?" he said, pulling her toward him.
"I'm working, sir. I'll be right back," Rachel said. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go.
"Come with me," he said, dragging her toward the restroom.
Rachel's heart started racing. "Sir, please"
He pulled her inside the restroom and locked the door. His eyes were dark, angry. Not drunk anymore. Something else.
"You're too pretty to be working here," he said, moving toward her. "You should be somewhere better."
"I need to get back to work," Rachel said. She backed away from him, looking for a way out. There was only one door. He was blocking it.
"Not yet," he said. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. His other hand went to her dress. "Let's have some fun first."
Rachel pushed at him, but he was stronger. He started pulling her dress down. His hand went to her throat.
"Don't scream," he said.
She couldn't breathe. Her vision started getting blurry. She tried to push him away but she was getting weaker. This was happening. This was really happening.
Then the door exploded open.
The tall man from the restaurant came in. The one with the dark eyes. He moved so fast Rachel didn't even see what happened. She just heard the sound of impact. Dominic let go of her and fell backward.
The man didn't stop. He beat Dominic methodically, coldly. No emotion on his face. Just violence. Dominic tried to fight back but he was nothing compared to this man. Blood started coming from Dominic's nose, his mouth.
"Please," Dominic said, his voice broken. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The man stopped. He looked at Dominic like he was garbage. Then he looked at Rachel.
"You okay?" he asked. His voice was calm, like he hadn't just beaten someone half to death.
Rachel nodded. She couldn't speak. Her throat hurt. Her hands were shaking.
"Leave," the man said to Dominic. "And if you ever come near her again, I'll kill you. Understood?"
Dominic nodded rapidly. He was crying now, scared. He left, moving past them carefully.
The man looked at Rachel again. "You're staying at 247 Maple Street?"
She was shocked that he knew her address. How did he know her address?
"Yes," she said quietly.
"Someone will be watching your house from now on. Don't be scared of them."
"Wait, who are you? Why are you"
But he was already walking away. He left through the restroom door and Rachel heard him tell Derek something quietly before he left the restaurant entirely.
Derek came into the restroom a minute later. His face was pale.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I don't know," Rachel said. "Who is that man?"
"I don't know," Derek said, but he was lying. She could tell. "But Rachel, you need to listen to me. Don't ask questions about him. Don't tell anyone about this. Just... just go home and be careful, okay?"
The next morning, Rachel saw a man standing across the street from her house.
He was tall, muscular, with a serious face. He was just standing there, looking at her house. When she made eye contact with him, he didn't look away. He didn't smile. He just watched her.
She locked her door and went to work.
He was there when she came home.
The next day, same thing. Different man. Also tall, also serious, also just watching.
It went on for days. Every time she left her house, there was a man. Every time she came home, there was a man. Sometimes the same one, sometimes different. But always someone.
By the fourth day, Rachel was tired of it. She marched outside to the man standing across the street.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you watching me?"
The man didn't answer. He just looked at her.
"Answer me," she said. "What do you want?"
"I'm here to protect you," the man said finally. His voice was calm, steady.
"Protect me from what? I don't need protection."
"Yes, you do," he said. "You should go inside. I'll be out here."
"No. Tell me what's going on. Who sent you?"
The man was quiet for a long moment.
"Someone who doesn't want you to get hurt," he said. "That's all you need to know."
Rachel stared at him. She wanted to argue, but there was something in his eyes that told her he wouldn't explain more. She went back inside, but she was terrified now. What had she done? Why was someone protecting her? Protecting her from what?
That night, there was a knock on her door.
Rachel opened it slowly. It was the man from the restaurant. The tall one with dark eyes. But he looked different now. Colder. More dangerous.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
Rachel stepped aside. She didn't know why she did it. She was scared of him. But she also needed answers.
He came inside and closed the door. He looked around her small house like he was assessing it.
"My name is Raziel," he said. "I'm going to be very clear with you. You're in danger. Dominic Moretti is a mafia boss's son. His family is dangerous. And he wants revenge on you for what happened at the restaurant."
Rachel felt her legs go weak.
"I don't understand," she said. "I just"
"Slapped him," Raziel finished. "Yes. And now he's planning to hurt you. So you're staying protected. My men will watch your house. They'll follow you to work. They'll follow you everywhere. And you don't ask questions. You don't try to leave. You just accept that you're protected now."
"Why?" Rachel asked. "Why do you care? Why are you doing this?"
Raziel looked at her with those dark eyes. They were cold. Completely emotionless.
"Because," he said, "if I don't protect you, you'll die. And I'm not going to let that happen."
He didn't say it like he cared. He said it like he was stating a fact. Like it was just something he'd decided, and that was the end of it.
"What do you want from me?" Rachel asked.
"Nothing," he said. "Just stay alive."
Then he left.
Rachel stood in her small house, shaking, trying to understand what was happening. She had no family, no one to protect her, no one to help her. And now this man this powerful, dangerous man had decided she was his responsibility.
She didn't know if that was good or bad.
She didn't know if she should be grateful or terrified.
She just knew that her life had changed completely in the last few hours.
And there was nothing she could do about it.