Marked By His Sin

Alessia’s POV

“Stop—Dad, stop!”

I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my heart was hammering so hard against my ribs it hurt. My sheets were twisted around my legs, damp with my own sweat, my hands trembling as if they were still gripping something solid.

The dream clung to me.

Headlights blinding. Screaming metal. My father’s hands on the steering wheel, shaking and my mother's voice screaming just before everything went wrong.

The sound of my phone buzzing had woken me up from my nightmare, thankful for that but I was wondering who was calling at midnight.

Unknown number.

I hesitated before answering. “Hello?”

A low voice answered, smooth and dangerous. “Alessia Moretti.”

The voice sounded certain, commanding.

My pulse spiked. “Who is this?”

A brief pause.

“Someone who’s been looking for you,” the man said quietly. “And who finally found you?”

The call ended before I could say a word.

I stared at the phone, cold shivers running down my spine as my thoughts wandered toward the few people who knew my name—and even fewer who would ever use it like that.

I stood up when I heard the low growl of an engine, the unmistakable sound of a car moving. I staggered to the window just in time to see a black car pull away, disappearing into the night.

I held onto the window rails for support as my legs were shaking and my heart kept thumping as loud as it could.

The first thing I noticed when I unlocked the café that morning was the kind of silence that made my heart race so fast it could win a tournament.

The heaviness in the air only made it worse.

I flipped the sign to OPEN and stepped inside, the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup wrapping around me. This place had become my sanctuary over the years, a place where I felt safe, a place I could call mine.

I set my bag down behind the counter and glanced instinctively at the window, staring into the street for as long as I could remember, as if I were meant to see something.

Nothing unusual.

Still, the feeling lingered.

I felt like someone was watching me, the feeling was too heavy I dared not ignore.

I shook it off and busied myself with the normal opening routine—wiping down the espresso machine, lining up pastries behind the glass. But no matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind kept drifting back to the night before, and for the first time in ten years, I felt unsafe.

I couldn't stop thinking about the call, the man on the other end with a commanding voice, and the black car below my window.

Someone who’s been looking for you.

My hands tightened around a porcelain cup without me realizing it.

“You’re imagining things,” I muttered to myself and continued with my daily routine.

The bell above the door chimed— sharp and sudden—slicing through my thoughts. My heart jumped before I could stop it. My hands nearly dropped the cup, but I held onto it.

A man walked in.

He was walking towards me walked with a pole-like height and a black suit made so precisely that it looked tailored onto his body. He wore no tie, just an open collar revealing a hint of tanned skin. With each step he took, my heartbeat quickened. I couldn’t explain why—it just happened.

Not a customer.

That was the first thing my instincts screamed.

He wore an unreadable expression—too unreadable. His sharp, assessing eyes swept the room once before settling casually on the menu board.

And then—on me.

I felt it like a touch.

I pushed the unease aside and stepped forward. This was my space. My territory.

“What can I get you?” I asked, forcing a smile, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Espresso,” he said. His accent was faintly Italian, smooth. “Double.”

“Coming right up.”

As I turned toward the machine, my skin prickled. I could feel him watching me—my movements, my posture, the way my fingers trembled slightly as I locked the portafilter into place.

When I set the cup down in front of him, our eyes met. I held his gaze deliberately, refusing to let him see my fear.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Recognition?

No.

Calculation.

“That’ll be four euros,” I said.

He slid a bill across the counter, his fingers brushing mine—intentionally, I thought.

I felt cold chills down my spine.

“Keep the change,” he replied.

I nodded, pulling my hand back as quickly as I could.

He took the cup and moved to a table near the window, positioning himself so he could see the street. He stared outside as if uninterested, but I knew better.

My unease deepened with each move he made.

The bell chimed again moments later, and relief flooded me. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Sofia.

She burst in like a splash of color, dark hair loose around her shoulders with oversized sunglasses perched on her head.

“Please tell me you saved me a croissant,” she groaned dramatically.

I smiled despite myself. “Always.”

She leaned over the counter, lowering her voice. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t,” I admitted. Sofia was one of the few people who could see through me. There was no point pretending to be fine.

Her gaze flicked past me, then sharpened.

“Why is there a walking Prada ad staring at you like that?”

I stiffened because I knew what she meant but I still pretended like I didn't have a clue.

“What do you mean?” I murmured.

She tilted her head subtly toward the window table. “Him. Black suit. He is giving serial killer vibes.”

I risked a glance. Hearing it out loud made my fear real. I had been holding myself together until now.

The man was watching us openly.

My stomach dropped.

Our eyes met again—this time his lips curved slightly. Not a smile. Something colder. Like a smirk.

“I don’t know him,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Sofia muttered. “That’s the problem.”

The man stood abruptly, draining the rest of his espresso. As he turned toward the door, his eyes met mine one last time.

There was no apology in them.

No warmth.

Only intent.

The bell chimed as he left.

Sofia exhaled. “Okay. That was weird.”

My hands were shaking.

“I need some air,” I said, already moving.

Outside, the street buzzed with late-morning traffic, life continuing as if nothing had changed. But something had changed. I felt it deep in my bones.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my aunt before I could second-guess myself.

She answered on the second ring. “Alessia?”

“I think someone is following me,” I said, the words tumbling out.

Silence.

Then, carefully, “What makes you say that?”

“There was a man here,” I continued. “At the café. He watched me the entire time. And last night, I received a troubling call, this doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

“You’re sure you’re not imagining this?” Lucia asked, though her voice lacked conviction.

“No,” I said firmly. “This feels deliberate, like someone wants me to notice them.”

Another pause.

“If you feel unsafe,” she said slowly, “stay with Sofia. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Do you know who this could be?” I asked.

Silence again.

Too long.

“No,” she finally said. “But if someone is watching you, it means you shouldn’t be alone.”

A chill crept up my spine.

“I’ll call you later,” I said.

“Alessia,” Lucia added. “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“Don’t go home alone if it’s late and please be careful, the city is filled with bad people.”

The call ended.

I lowered my phone just as a black car rolled slowly past the curb.

Tinted windows.

The same car.

It slowed.

Paused.

Then drove off.

My heart pounded violently, just like it had the night before.

Because this time, I knew.

Whoever he was—

He was coming back for me.