Chapter 5 The Name I Buried

Tuesday nights at Inferno were usually slow.

Not dead, but quiet enough for me to breathe between drink orders. I liked them that way - steady, uneventful. The kind of nights where nothing tried to kill you, and no ghosts showed up wearing cologne and leather shoes.

But tonight didn't feel steady.

There was a hum in the air I couldn't shake. Not music. Not voices. Just a tension I couldn't place.

I was in the back office trying to log our inventory when the manager's tablet pinged. Reservation list. We didn't always check it - most walk-ins took care of themselves - but something told me to look.

Five names. All basic. Fake-sounding. Until I got to the last one.

Matteo Cruz.

The name stopped me cold.

Cruz.

It could've been coincidence. Cruz wasn't rare. But Matteo?

That was different.

I stood there, staring at it like the letters would rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

Because if it was that Matteo... I was in trouble.

Ten years ago, he was just a teenager. Always hanging around the Cruz estate like a quiet shadow. His uncle Casemiro trusted him more than most. I remembered him - not because he was loud or flashy, but because he watched. Always watched. Like he was learning something the rest of us didn't know.

And if he was in Spirales now... if he was here...

He wasn't here for a drink.

He was here for me.

I backed out of the tablet and locked the screen.

My hands were cold. My breath became shallow. I hadn't heard that name since the night my world cracked open. I thought the Guecos would've been my biggest threat. But if the Cruz family was stirring too?

It meant the map wasn't forgotten.

It meant I wasn't forgotten.

I stepped into the hallway, glancing out toward the floor.

Booths full. Lights dim. Music playing.

Just a regular night.

Except it wasn't.

"Everything good?" Rosa asked as I passed.

"Fine," I said too fast.

She didn't push it. I loved her for that.

I took a deep breath, forced myself behind the bar, and started serving drinks again like I hadn't just seen a ghost in digital ink.

But I kept glancing at the door.

Waiting...Watching.

Bracing for whatever came next.

The bar became louder than usual for a Tuesday.

People talked too fast. Laughed too hard. Glasses clinked like nervous teeth. But none of it mattered. I wasn't listening. I was watching the door. Waiting for a name to become a face.

It didn't take long.

He walked in like he belonged - not flashy, not loud. Simple dark blazer. Black jeans. His eyes scanned the room once, just once, then landed on me like they never left.

Matteo Cruz.

All grown up... and just as cold as I remembered.

He took the corner booth.

Didn't wave. Didn't call. Just sat and waited like the damn devil in a tailored jacket. And somehow, even the music felt quieter.

I told Rosa I'd handle it.

I wiped my palms on my apron and walked over, heart thudding in my ears.

"Evening," I said, voice steady - barely.

He looked up, smile soft, like we were old friends.

"Lexa," he said. "Still going by that, huh?"

My stomach flipped, but I didn't let it show.

"You ordering something or just here to stalk people for free?"

His smile widened - not kind. Just amused. "I'll take whiskey. Neat. And... a minute of your time."

I didn't move, Not at first.

Then I turned, poured his drink, and brought it back. When I set it down, he tapped the glass once and leaned forward.

"You've done well for yourself. Disappearing like that. New name. New life. Almost believable."

"Almost?" I echoed.

He raised an eyebrow. "You always had your father's eyes. Trouble is, I don't forget a face that watched a man die."

I felt the breath leave my body for a second.

But I stood still. "You want something?"

"I want you to remember," he said, sipping the whiskey. "You're not invisible. Not anymore."

I stared at him. "If you came here to scare me-"

"I came to remind you," he interrupted. "The past has a way of showing up... especially when you think it's buried."

He stood then, sliding something across the table.

A napkin.

I looked down. There was a number scrawled in black ink. But it wasn't a phone number. It was a coordinate.

I looked up fast - but he was already walking away. By the time I reached the door, he was gone.

Just like that.

No trace. No second look.

Just a memory walking out into the night... leaving a warning behind.

I crumpled the napkin in my pocket, my heart thundering.

The coordinates weren't random.

They were close - too close to one of the real sites on my back. Almost like someone was matching lines. Testing me.

I raced back to the bar, locked myself in the staff room, and unzipped the back of my dress just enough to see the top of the tattoo in the mirror.

Still there.

Still safe.

But not for long.

The napkin was still in my pocket when Luca walked back in.

Same time as last time. Same lazy confidence in his stride. Like he wasn't two steps away from wrecking everything I'd spent a decade burying.

I was behind the bar wiping glasses I didn't need to wipe, trying to breathe like a normal human being. But my pulse had other plans.

He leaned on the counter like he owned it. "Rough night?"

"Busy," I said, not looking up.

"You always polish with that much rage?"

I gave him a look. "You always show up when you're not wanted?"

"Only when I get the sense I'm needed anyway."

I poured him a drink without asking.

He took it, sipped once, then studied me like I was a math problem he didn't know how to solve.

"I ran your name through a few things," he said quietly.

I froze.

Then forced a shrug. "And?"

"Nothing. You don't exist before five years ago. That's rare. Even for people with bad credit."

I smirked, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Maybe I'm just a ghost."

"Or maybe you buried something," he said, his voice lowering. "Something you don't want found."

He leaned in. His face was close - too close. I could smell the gin, the aftershave, the tension...it wrapped around me like heat.

"Tell me," he said. "What are you hiding, Lexa?"

For a second, I almost did.

Almost spilled everything - the map, the tattoo, the blood on that marble floor. The child I was. The woman I had to become just to survive.

But then I felt the napkin in my pocket... and remembered Matteo's eyes.

"I'm not hiding anything," I whispered.

Luca didn't believe me. I could see it. But he didn't push.

He stepped back. Let the silence speak.

"Be careful," he said finally. "There's talk going around. Cruz family's sniffing at old graves."

My heart skipped.

He watched me - waiting for a crack. I gave him nothing.

"Talk doesn't scare me."

He gave a slow nod. Then reached into his coat pocket and slid a folded piece of paper across the bar.

I hesitated, then unfolded it.

It was a map... a fake one.

"The file from the USB," he said. "My father still has a copy. I pulled it."

I stared at the messy lines. They were wrong. Off by miles.

"Looks like garbage, right?" he added. "Now I know why."

I looked up. He wasn't smiling.

"The data was fake," he said. "Whoever swapped it... knew exactly what they were doing."

I gripped the bar.

"Why show me this?"

"Because I want to know who did it," he said, voice low and firm. "And I think you do too."

Then he turned and walked out again - same way as always. Smooth. Cold. Leaving a mess behind.

But this time, he didn't know...

He just stepped into Matteo's trap.

And I was running out of ways to stop it.