I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 12

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

One Month Later.

𓎢𓎠𓎟𖦁‎𓎟𓎠𓎡

The espresso machine hissed at me like it had personal beef.

I flinched, flicked the steam wand off with my elbow, and shoved the finished oat latte onto the counter with a smile so wide it felt physically glued to my face.

"Order up! Medium oat milk lavender latte, extra foam, extra patience," I called out, hoping the man in the beanie would actually hear me this time instead of scrolling TikTok on full volume at the window seat.

He didn’t.

I sighed, wiped my hands on the apron I hadn’t washed in... three shifts, and turned back to the chaos that was my life. Or at least the espresso bar during Friday lunch rush.

It was a mess.

No, I was a mess.

My hair was in a half-bun that was threatening to un-bun. My sneakers were wet because I spilled an entire iced matcha an hour ago. And I was working Sarah’s shift again, even though she called out this morning for the third time this week because, her boyfriend had diarrhea.

I glanced at the tiny handwritten schedule taped behind the bar and winced. Four back-to-back shifts this week. One day off. Minimum wage. Tips that barely covered my commute.

But I smiled because that’s what I do, that’s what Maddie does.

Always smiling. Always saying “yes, of course!” when someone begs me to cover. Always getting called “sweetheart” by customers who don’t know my name but still manage to forget I’m a real person with actual blood sugar needs.

I popped a cashew protein ball in my mouth between orders and instantly regretted it, too dry, definitely not worth choking over and chased it with a sip of cold coffee that tasted like burnt almonds and sadness.

I pressed my palm to the counter, bracing for the next wave of orders, and told myself for the thousandth time: This is temporary. This is just until I finish school. Just until I get my vet tech license. Just until I can help animals full time and never have to explain to another angry yoga mom why her avocado toast is late because we ran out of avocados.

"Hey! Can I get that latte iced instead?" a voice called out.

The drink I literally just made.

I smiled. Again.

"Sure! Totally fine! I’ll remake it right now," I chirped, already reaching for the almond milk I knew was down to its last drop.

Behind me, the fridge wheezed. The fan buzzed. The smell of burnt vegan bacon clung to my dress. My feet ached. My soul ached. But I smiled anyway, because if I stopped, I might cry. And crying in front of customers was not part of my job description.

I remade the latte.

"Here you go!" I handed it off with my signature Maddie sparkle.

And just as I turned around, I knocked over the tip jar.

Coins spilled everywhere.

I stared at them for a second, then laughed quietly to myself.

Of course.

Because why not?

Just another day in the life of Maddie Júlia Cordeiro, the professional people-pleaser.

The tip jar was still rattling on the floor when the bell above the door jingled again.

I didn’t even look up at first, I was too busy chasing rogue quarters under the espresso machine.

Then I heard it.

The sound of something hard hitting the glass. It was not a tap, not a knock but a loud crack.

I looked up.

Three figures wearing black hoodies and masks. One of them held a baseball bat already mid-swing.

The window shattered.

My brain froze for a split second like it couldn’t catch up to what I was seeing.

Then the café exploded into madness.

The customers screamed, and a chair got thrown. One of the masked guys flipped the pastry case with a grunt, glass and croissants flying in all directions.

I hit the floor.

Hard.

I didn’t even think about it, my body just dropped.

“Everybody DOWN!” one of them shouted.

My heartbeat slammed into my ears so loud I couldn’t hear anything else for a second. I crawled behind the counter.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

The voice rang out again, whoever said that was closer now.

My stomach flipped.

No. No, no, no, this wasn’t just a robbery.

They were looking for someone.

They were looking for a girl.

I curled tighter behind the espresso machine and tried to breathe through my nose so I wouldn’t start sobbing. I tried not to let my teeth clack from how bad I was shaking.

“She’s supposed to be here,” another voice said, “That girl. The Brazilian one. With the cat.”

My heart stopped.

No.

They couldn’t mean me.

There was no way. No way they came all this distance. No way anyone from back home found me. My name. My face.

But they said it. Brazilian, the girl with the cat.

That was me.

Oh god. They found me.

I shoved myself deeper between the shelves, wedging my body behind the crate where we stored backup paper cups and cinnamon shakers. I couldn’t even hear anything except my own heartbeat. Things were smashing. There was a scream and someone was begging.

I pressed both hands over my mouth.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

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