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.

NICO

The next night, I told myself I wasn't waiting for him.

I lied.

Every time those double doors opened, I caught myself looking up, chest pulling tight, half-expecting him to walk in. And every time it wasn't him-just another couple in evening wear, just another group of drunk executives-I'd force myself back into motion, pretending I didn't care.

But my body wasn't listening. It knew.

And when he finally came through the doors, Cassian DeSantis, all sharp lines and shadows, the air in the room tilted. Just like the night before. The hum of conversation stuttered. The clink of glasses dulled. Everyone noticed him, but he didn't notice them.

His men followed close-three tonight, maybe four-but they blurred into the background. Cassian was the storm, and storms don't share the spotlight.

He didn't head straight for the corner table this time. No. His eyes scanned the room once, steady, deliberate, until they locked on me.

It was like heat rushing straight into my chest.

"I want him," he said when the host stepped up. His voice carried, low but sharp enough to cut through the clamor. He didn't point toward the bar, or toward my section, or even bother saying my name. Just him. And his finger lifted, pointing directly at me.

The host swallowed hard and nodded. Nobody questioned Cassian DeSantis.

My legs started moving before my brain did. Men like him didn't ask. They commanded, and the world rearranged itself.

By the time I reached the table, his men were already eyeing me, sharp, suspicious. I felt the weight of their stares, but Cassian... he leaned back in his chair like a man in no rush, like he was waiting for the inevitable.

"You remembered me?" I asked, forcing my voice not to crack.

His lips curved, just slightly. Not warmth. More like a blade with a gleam. "Some men are forgettable. You're not."

My pulse stumbled. I pretended to jot down their orders, but my hand shook more than I liked. Something was off tonight. The air was... tense. His men whispered quick words to each other, eyes darting toward the entrance, shoulders rigid.

The room felt like the seconds before a storm breaks.

I delivered their drinks. Set the whiskey in front of Cassian, poured it neat. He picked it up slow, deliberate, eyes on me the whole time. When he lifted it to his lips, it was like he was testing me, testing the room, testing everything.

"You notice things, don't you?" His voice was calm, but edged.

I opened my mouth to answer-

And the first shot cracked through the restaurant.

The sound was like the earth splitting open. Sharp, merciless.

Screams exploded across the room. Glass shattered as windows burst under the hail of bullets. Dishes clattered, red wine spilled, looking too much like blood against the white cloth. The band in the corner dropped everything, diving for the floor.

For a second, I froze. Just long enough for the terror to crawl icy fingers up my spine.

Then instinct kicked in.

"Down!" I shouted, grabbing Cassian's arm before I even thought. My body moved without permission, dragging him behind the heavy oak divider, forcing him low.

And he let me. Didn't fight, didn't snarl. His hand brushed mine briefly-steady, controlled. Almost... approving.

His men didn't need orders. Guns were already in their hands, drawn from under tailored jackets. Bullets ripped through the air, splintering wood, tearing fabric, whistling past my ears.

Gunmen flooded in through the entrance. Five, maybe six, maybe more. Black masks. Their movements sharp, too practiced. Not chaos. Not random. This was planned.

"Cover him!" one of Cassian's men barked, firing back.

I ducked lower, heart pounding so hard it hurt. My hand scrambled, grabbed the first thing within reach-a thick bottle of wine from a fallen tray. When one of the attackers broke through too close, I didn't think. I just swung.

The bottle smashed against his skull, glass and blood flying. He crumpled. His gun clattered across the floor.

The sound of my breathing was ragged, loud in my ears, but I wasn't frozen anymore.

Cassian's gaze found me through the chaos. Those storm-dark eyes flickered with something new, something sharp. Like he was seeing me-not just the waiter, not just background.

His men fought like wolves, ruthless and precise. One went down with a shot to the chest, but he dragged an attacker with him. The air stank of smoke, gunpowder, blood. People were screaming, crying, clawing for exits.

I pressed closer to Cassian, shielding him, body shaking but refusing to move away. Bullets hissed past. Splinters rained down.

At one point, Cassian caught my wrist, his voice cutting through the roar. "You'll get yourself killed."

"Better me than you," I shot back, surprising myself.

He looked at me then, really looked, as if those words didn't fit the image he'd built of me. But before anything else could settle, more attackers burst through the kitchen doors.

The fight surged again.

One of Cassian's men launched a chair across the room, knocking a shooter off balance. Another grabbed a masked man and twisted until bone cracked and the weapon dropped.

I couldn't breathe through the smoke, the screaming, the crack of shots. My fingers closed around the gun that had fallen near me. Heavy. Cold. My hand trembled, but I lifted it anyway.

Cassian's gaze cut toward me. Calm, steady, even in this. "Do you even know how to use that?"

My throat was dry. "Point and shoot, right?"

A flash of something crossed his face-maybe amusement, maybe approval. The faintest curl at the corner of his lips before he turned back to fire.

Minutes felt like forever. My knuckles ached from how hard I gripped the gun. I crouched beside Cassian, body screaming with adrenaline, every nerve frayed.

And then-silence.

The last attacker hit the floor, throat torn by a bullet, body falling with a sickening thud. The few still breathing were disarmed, dragged, forced onto their knees by Cassian's surviving men.

The restaurant... God. It didn't look like a restaurant anymore. Glass crunched underfoot. Tables were overturned, fabric ripped, wine bleeding across tiles. Bodies-too many bodies. Guests crying, staff huddled in corners.

I pushed myself up slowly, chest heaving. The gun was still in my hand, my fingers locked white around it.

Cassian rose too, brushing glass off his jacket like nothing had touched him. Calm. Untouchable. Terrifying.

His eyes found mine. He stepped close, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold hidden in the storm of his irises.

"You didn't run," he said. Quiet. Certain.

"I couldn't," I managed. My voice cracked, but I forced it steady.

His gaze dipped to the gun still clenched in my hand, then back up to my face. "You shielded me."

"I... I just did what I had to." My throat felt like sandpaper.

He tilted his head, studying me like I'd become a puzzle he couldn't resist. His voice dropped lower, meant for me alone.

"Men who don't flinch when blood spills are rare," he murmured. "Men who'd bleed for someone else? Rarer still."

Heat shot through me-shame, pride, something darker tangled all at once.

One of his men stepped forward. "Boss. Three alive."

Cassian's lips curved, faint, sharp. "Good. We'll make them talk."

I stared at him, at the wreckage, at the red-streaked floor. My hands still shook, but when he reached and slipped the gun from my grip, sliding it back into his own holster, I didn't fight him.

He looked at me like I'd crossed some invisible line. Like I wasn't just a waiter anymore.

And he wasn't wrong.

Because standing there, in the middle of blood and broken glass, I knew something had shifted in me too.

Nothing about my life would ever be the same again.

NICO

The knock on my door the next morning wasn't normal. It wasn't the kind neighbors give, you know? Not polite. Not quick. Not impatient. No-it was heavy. Solid. Each thud made the hinges rattle and, honestly, it felt like it went straight through my chest.

I froze. Coffee halfway to my mouth. Black, bitter, the way I always drank it because sugar was too expensive and I'd grown used to the taste. My heart skipped, then took off like it wanted to rip right through my ribs.

The mug slipped. It hit the counter with a dull sound and spilled over the rim. My hands were suddenly wet and sticky, but I barely noticed. The apartment-already small, already bare-felt like it was shrinking in around me. Fragile walls, paper-thin, like they couldn't hold whoever was standing outside.

I forced my feet to move. Every step felt like I was dragging weights.

And then I opened the door.

There he was.

Cassian DeSantis.

He didn't just stand there-he owned the doorway. Dark suit, sharp enough to cut, tailored like it had been built onto him. His tie hung a little loose, and just above the collar, tattoos curled like smoke escaping a fire. His eyes-God-those eyes didn't just look at me. They studied me. Like a predator deciding how hungry it was.

Two of his men lingered behind him, sunglasses on even though we were inside. They weren't looking at me, but somehow it felt like they were.

"Señor Caruso," Cassian said. His voice was low, smooth, the kind of sound that made your spine straighten whether you wanted to or not. "You didn't think I'd forget you so soon, did you?"

I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady. "I figured after last night you'd have... bigger things to worry about than tracking down your waiter."

His lips curved. Not a smile. Something sharper. "You're not just a waiter anymore."

And then-without asking-he walked inside. He didn't hesitate. Didn't check. Just moved, like he knew the space belonged to him now. His cologne hit me-rich, woodsy, expensive. The kind of scent that lingered. The kind that stayed on your skin if you stood too close. And suddenly my tiny apartment felt too full.

I closed the door. My pulse was a wild drum in my ears.

Cassian walked the room like he was inspecting it. The couch with stuffing poking out. The cracked tiles. The pile of books leaning against the wall. His footsteps were steady, deliberate. At the window, he paused, hands clasped behind his back, looking out like the street belonged to him too.

Finally, he turned. His eyes pinned me where I stood.

"You saved my life last night."

I opened my mouth to say something-shrug it off maybe-but he lifted a hand. Just one. And I shut up instantly.

"Don't," he said. Firm. Unshakable. "Men don't throw themselves into gunfire for me. Not unless they have something to gain... or something to prove." He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "Which one are you, Nico?"

I exhaled, shaky. "Maybe I didn't think. Maybe I just... moved."

He studied me, like he could peel me apart layer by layer until there was nothing left to hide. He stopped a foot away. His voice dropped lower.

"You don't save a man like me and walk away unchanged."

Something inside me tightened. It wasn't a threat. It was just-truth.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. Didn't open it. Just rolled it in his palm, metal catching the light. "I've had men by my side for years. Soldiers. Wolves. But last night, not one of them moved as quickly as you."

"I'm not a soldier," I blurted. My voice cracked.

His smirk cut like a blade. "No. You're not. But you could be."

That should've been my cue to back off. Instead, I felt it-this pull, heavier than fear. Stronger than reason. My throat went dry. "What are you saying?"

Cassian's eyes darkened. His tone softened, coaxing. "Be my bodyguard. My shadow. My right hand."

The words hung there, thick, dangerous.

I laughed. It came out nervous, shaky. "You want a waiter to guard your life?"

His smirk deepened. "You already did. And don't insult yourself, Nico. I've seen how you move. You don't flinch at blood. You don't fold under pressure. That makes you rarer than half the men I pay fortunes to."

His words dug into me. Turned things I'd been ignoring over in my chest.

"And if I say no?" I asked, quiet.

Cassian leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek. His cologne was dizzying, overwhelming. "Then you'll go back to carrying trays for tourists, siempre pequeño. Always small. Always wondering why you let fear keep you there. And you'll remember that you saved my life, and that I offered you the chance to step into mine."

It cut deeper than I expected.

Truth was, I had been restless. For years. Stuck in place, invisible. And Cassian... he didn't just see me. He pulled me into his orbit like gravity.

Before I even thought it through, before I could stop myself, I heard my own voice. "I'll do it."

Something flickered in his eyes. Approval? Satisfaction? Maybe both. He slipped the cigarette case back into his jacket and adjusted his cufflinks like it was already decided.

"Bien," he said. "Good. Then we waste no time. You'll come with me now."

I blinked. "Now?"

"Yes." Final. Sharp. A command. "There's a meeting I need to attend. Consider it your first lesson."

I hesitated, glancing around at my life-the spilled coffee, the mess of dishes, the walls that had been my cage for so long. Could I just walk away?

Cassian's voice cut through my hesitation. "You saved me, Nico. That makes you mine now. And mine don't hesitate."

Instead of fear, something else rushed through me. Excitement. Fire.

I grabbed my jacket. "Let's go then."

Cassian's smirk deepened. For a second-just a second-I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes. He gestured toward the door, letting me go first. His men followed, silent shadows, their Spanish whispers trailing behind-"cuidado," "rápido," "vamos."

As we stepped into the hall, Cassian leaned close, his words for me alone.

"You'll learn fast, Nico. Or you won't last. But remember this-once you step into my world, there's no way back."

And with that, he pulled me out of my old life and straight into his.