Bend The King

NICO

I've seen all kinds of men step into the restaurant. Politicians with smiles that never reached their eyes. Rich businessmen with women on their arms who were clearly not their wives. Celebrities who strutted in like the air itself belonged to them.

But that night... when Cassian walked in, it was different.

The whole place seemed to hesitate. Like the walls were holding their breath.

It started with the silence. A moment ago, forks clinked, people murmured over their food, the usual background hum. And then-quiet. Not total silence, just this... dimming. Like every single head turned without anyone saying a word.

And the crazy part? He didn't even do anything. Didn't shout, didn't strut. Just walked in. Three men followed, sharp-eyed and rigid, but even with them behind him, he was the one who drew every bit of attention.

I was by the entrance, tray of champagne glasses balanced on my hand. My chest gave this weird thump when I saw him.

Didn't know his name yet. Didn't need to. You just knew when someone like that walked into your world.

Tall. Broad. His suit looked like it was stitched right onto him-midnight black, no tie, shirt undone just enough to show ink curling across his collarbone. Tattoos most men would hide in a place like ours. Not him.

And the way he moved... slow, deliberate, like he'd planned each step hours before. His men kept up close behind, shadows of him, but they didn't matter. Nobody mattered compared to him.

I swallowed, tried to look away, turned toward the bar. But my eyes-traitors-kept drifting back.

Of course. He sat in my section.

"Table twenty-one," Marta muttered, shoving menus at me. She gave me this look-half smirk, half pity. "Good luck, kid."

I tugged at my apron, smoothed my shirt, and forced my legs to move.

"Good evening, gentlemen." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "Welcome. My name's Nico, I'll be serving you tonight."

Cassian's gaze landed on me. Just landed-no expression, no rush-and I swear my lungs turned heavy. His eyes were dark, storm-dark. Not just looking but measuring. Weighing.

I tried to stand still. Tried not to twitch.

Then-his mouth curved. Not a smile. More like a secret joke only he knew. His voice was low, smooth, when it came: "Wine. Red. Your best."

"Yes, sir." I nodded too quickly.

His men ordered without looking at me, clipped words about steak and seafood. Cassian didn't touch the menu. He didn't need to.

When I came back with the bottle, my hands behaved, but my heart... yeah, no. I poured slowly, carefully. His glass filled, dark red swirling like blood under the light.

That's when it hit me-the scent of him. Spicy, warm, strong without being overdone. Wrapped around me before I could step back. And under his jacket, when the fabric shifted, a metallic flash caught my eye. A gun. Not exactly hidden. Not exactly flaunted either. Like he wanted people to sense it, without actually seeing it.

I set the bottle down, throat dry. "Would you like me to bring the appetizers now, or wait?"

He leaned back, one arm stretched across the booth's back like he owned the place. His eyes slid down-face, name tag, back up again.

"Nico," he said, slowly, tasting it like it was foreign.

The way my name rolled off his tongue... I shivered.

"Appetizers," he added.

"Yes, sir."

The rest of the night blurred. Plates, glasses, chatter. His men talked sometimes, laughed a little, but Cassian... barely a word. Just present. And that was enough. Every move he made pulled the table in like gravity. He lifted his glass-they followed. He leaned forward-they shut up.

And me? I couldn't stop sneaking glances. His watch-sleek, expensive, too perfect to be off-the-shelf. His wrist-tattoos creeping down when his sleeve shifted, black ink cutting against tanned skin. Everything about him demanded attention.

At one point Marta brushed past me. "Stop staring," she hissed under her breath. "You'll get yourself killed."

"I'm not-" I started, then caught myself. "Yeah. Fine. Maybe I am."

When his table finally rose, I thought the weight pressing on me might lift. Nope. Wrong again.

They stood, and the room froze a second time. His men scanned the space like hawks. Then Cassian slid out, fixed his cuffs, walked past me. For the briefest second, his shoulder brushed mine. His cologne-stronger now-coated me. My head spun.

He didn't look back. Just walked out.

Something in me wouldn't let it go. Restlessness. Curiosity. Maybe obsession.

Before I knew it, I was pushing through tables, out the glass doors.

Night air hit me-cool, sharp, the buzz of city traffic somewhere close. I spotted them crossing the lot.

And then... the car. A Maserati Quattroporte Trofeo. Sleek black, tinted windows, polished so hard it swallowed the streetlights. Not a car you drove. A car you ruled in. Cassian slid into the back seat like he'd done it a thousand times. His men followed.

The engine ignited-deep, guttural, powerful. And then they were gone.

I stood there like an idiot, staring after taillights fading into the dark.

I should've gone back inside. Pretended it was nothing. Another powerful man passing through. But no. My chest twisted, tight.

Because something in me had shifted.

I didn't know what he was. Mafia, kingpin, monster-take your pick. It didn't matter.

Cassian wasn't the kind of man you served once and forgot.

No.

He was the kind that branded himself into your memory. The kind you wanted to understand, even if the price was your life.

And as I turned back toward the restaurant, one truth sat heavy in my chest.

I wanted more.