A Devil's Deal With Mafia Tycoon

"What about you? Do you have a big ego?"

He smirked. "I wouldn't be a man if I didn't." He took another drink, making the glass empty with the exception of the ice cubes that hadn't melted yet. "I'll take the tab, sweetheart."

It was the time for him to make his move, but I suspected the offer would never come. He was the magnet that drew everyone in. He didn't need to chase anyone. Just sit there and wait for all the pretty girls to come to him.

I moved down the bar to the computer and generated his tab, putting in all the drinks that would have put a normal man flat on the floor. But before I could print the tab, I glanced to the other side of the room and instinctively knew something wasn't right.

Three men entered the bar, moving far too fast if all they wanted was a drink. And they had handkerchiefs tied over the bottom half of their faces to hide their identities from the cameras in all the corners.

Frozen to the spot, all I could do was stand there and watch one of them come at me-with a fucking machete.

He held up the machete at eye level. "Cash in the bag." He tossed a burlap sack on the counter. The other two men also had their machetes out, watching everyone else in the bar to make sure no one came to my rescue.

I stilled on the spot, struggling to breathe through the sheer panic.

"Bitch, fill the bag."

I didn't gasp or scream, but I was frozen to the spot in sheer terror.

"You picked the wrong bar, man."

My eyes glanced at Bastien, who remained on the stool. Everyone else at the bar had scurried to the wall. The other people in the seating area had tried to crawl under their tables or put their shaking arms in the air. Bastien was the only one who regarded the situation with an insane level of calm.

The man turned his attention to Bastien, taking the heat and the knife off me. "What'd you say, asshole?"

"I'm not the one threatening a girl with a knife, asshole." He left the stool and stood upright, and he seemed to grow several inches taller from when he had walked inside. He brandished no weapon other than his words, but he was still armed to the teeth with invisible power. "Homines ex codice."

My eyes flicked back and forth between them, having no idea what was transpiring.

The words were in Latin, but the meaning was unclear. I couldn't tell if my assailant understood what that meant or if he was just as bewildered as I was.

There was a silent standoff between them, a tension that rose like flames from a newly lit bonfire. The bar was normally loud and boisterous with chatter and laughter, but now it'd gone deadly quiet-like a graveyard.

The asshole with the machete moved, slashing his weapon down like he would hack Bastien to pieces.

I screamed in terror and moved for one of the empty bottles behind the counter.

It happened so fast that I wasn't sure exactly what transpired, but Bastien made the other man's face bloody and wrested the machete free. He slammed the guy's face down on the counter, not once but twice-and broke his nose. He pinned his head to the top of the counter and looked at me. "Your turn, sweetheart."

I slammed the bottle down on his head, and it shattered into pieces.

"Nice swing." Bastien let go, and the man dropped to the floor in a pile of broken glass and blood.

The other two rushed to the door to split when shit got real, but Bastien got there first and punched one so hard in the face he slammed into the wall and collapsed on the floor. He made a series of moves on the other guy, blocking the arm holding the machete before slamming his elbow straight into his head and knocking him out cold.

When he was done, a strained silence enveloped the bar, everyone still too afraid to move or speak.

Bastien walked across the hardwood floor and the broken glass, back to the counter where I stood. He pulled out his wallet and rifled through the euros that were stuffed into it, and as if nothing serious had just happened, he asked, "What do I owe you?"

The bar closed and the police came. They asked Bastien a couple of questions, but it seemed like they already knew him because they didn't ask who he was. In fact, they treated him like a superior.

I stepped outside into the cold, the air wet from a drizzle that had just passed through. The pavement was wet from the recent rainfall, and a few people were on the street because no one ever slept in this city.

Bastien came outside a moment later and looked me over. "You alright?"

"A little frazzled, but I'm fine."

He continued to stare me down with those piercing blue eyes. "It's okay not to be fine."

My eyes flicked away, touched by the softness he was showing when he had been so ruthless a moment ago. "I know it is."

"Where's your apartment?"

I normally wouldn't give out my address to a stranger, but he somehow felt like anything but a stranger even though I only knew his first name. "Rue Coquilliere. By the Louvre."

"I'll walk you."

"I'm okay⁠-"

"Come on." He took the lead, stepping into the empty street under the bright lampposts, moving past a building that had stood the test of time and survived the Second World War. "We have a conversation to finish."