Chapter Text
The café closed at one in the morning.
Margaux Ricardo wiped down the counter with practiced motions, muscles aching pleasantly after a long shift.
Outside, the city breathed—low engines, distant laughter, neon bleeding into wet pavement.
This hour always felt like standing between worlds.
Not quite safe.
Not quite dangerous.
Just...open.
She didn’t notice the black sedan idling across the street.
She never noticed the way shadows shifted when she laughed.
She certainly didn’t know that four of the most feared women in the city had memorized her schedule down to the minute.
Gillian Alcantara liked control. She liked clean lines, clean kills, clean ownership. Watching Margaux through the café window had been a test of restraint she hadn’t agreed to take.
The way Margaux leaned over tables, voice soft, smile unguarded—it stirred something feral under Gil’s composure.
Mikee Juanne Lazaro pretended it was curiosity.
A game. A distraction from blood and politics.
But every night she came back, she ordered the same drink just to hear Margaux say her name.
Mauré Claudé Vargaz told herself it was aesthetic appreciation. The curve of Margaux’s throat when she swallowed. The way her brows pinched when she concentrated. Beauty demanded attention. Preservation.
Johann Caszandra Rodriguez said nothing at all.
Johann simply watched.
Until tonight.
The man at table seven was too close. Too comfortable. His laugh grated. His fingers lingered on Margaux’s wrist like he had a right.
Margaux felt it before she fully understood it—the shift in the air.
The pressure.
When the bell chimed and four women entered the café, something primal in her spine straightened.
They didn’t look like customers.
They looked like a verdict.
Johann moved first, her presence a wall. The man noticed her eyes—dark, assessing, unimpressed—and instinct took over.
He withdrew his hand.
Gil stood beside Johann, peeling off her gloves slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving Margaux.
Mikee leaned against the counter with infuriating ease, grin sharp.
Claudé stayed back, gaze quiet and heavy, as if she were cataloguing Margaux for later.
“You okay?” Mikee asked lightly.
Margaux nodded, though her pulse raced. “Yes. Thank you.”
Johann watched the way Margaux’s throat worked when she swallowed.
“Good,” Johann said. “Because you’re done here.”
Margaux blinked. “I—what?”
Gil stepped closer. Not touching. Yet. “You don’t walk home alone anymore.”
“That’s— I mean, I appreciate the concern, but—”
“You’re coming with us,” Claudé said calmly, voice silk over steel.
Something in her tone made refusal feel... optional.
Margaux hesitated. She should say no. She knew that. Every sensible thought screamed at her to lock the door and call someone.
Instead, she found herself slipping off her apron, hands trembling slightly.
“Just a ride,” Mikee said softly. “Then we’ll disappear. Promise.”
They didn’t promise truthfully.
The sedan smelled like leather and expensive cologne.
Margaux sat between Mikee and Gil in the backseat, aware of every inch of space she wasn’t touching.
Johann drove. Claudé sat in front, glancing back occasionally, eyes unreadable.
“So,” Mikee said, breaking the silence. “Junior college. Night shifts. Bad taste in customers.”
Margaux laughed nervously. “You’ve done your homework.”
Gil’s smile was slow. “We do thorough research.”
The city lights blurred past. Margaux’s phone buzzed—a message from her roommate asking if she was okay.
She typed back yes and hoped it was true.
The car stopped in front of a high-rise Margaux had only seen in magazines.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Somewhere safe,” Johann said.
The elevator ride was quiet.
Too quiet.
The penthouse opened into glass, steel, and darkness held back by city glow.
Margaux stepped inside, heart hammering.
“This is... a mistake,” she said softly.
Johann turned to her. “You can leave.”
Margaux met her gaze.
The door remained open behind her.
She didn’t move.
Johann closed it.
They didn’t touch her at first.
That was the worst part.
They offered her water. A seat. Space. As if she were a guest instead of something they’d hunted.
“You’re probably wondering why,” Claudé said, pouring wine for herself but not offering Margaux any.
A choice.
Always a choice.
Margaux nodded.
Gil leaned against the window, city reflecting in her eyes. “We don’t share well.”
Mikee smiled. “And people have been noticing you.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” Margaux said, more firmly than she felt.
Johann approached her slowly. Each step measured.
“Not yet,” Johann agreed.
Her fingers brushed Margaux’s wrist—light, testing.
Margaux inhaled sharply.
“But you could,” Johann continued. “If you wanted.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Four women.
Four gazes.
All waiting.
“I don’t even know your names,” Margaux whispered.
Mikee chuckled. “That’s easy to fix.”
Introductions followed.
Each name landed like a brand.
Mafia Lords.
Margaux should have been terrified.
Instead, heat coiled low in her stomach.
The first kiss wasn’t a kiss.
It was Mikee’s thumb brushing Margaux’s lower lip when she laughed too loudly at a joke she didn’t quite hear.
“Careful,” Mikee murmured. “You do that when you’re nervous.”
Margaux froze. “Do what?”
Mikee leaned in, breath warm. “This.”
Their lips brushed—barely there.
Electricity snapped through Margaux’s spine. Mikee pulled back immediately, watching her reaction like a gambler reading cards.
“Is that okay?” Mikee asked.
Margaux nodded.
Gil growled softly.
Johann shot Gil a warning look.
Claudé watched with interest, eyes dark.
The second kiss came from Johann—firmer, slower, claiming without haste.
Margaux melted into it before she realized she was leaning forward.
When Johann pulled away, Margaux’s lips tingled.
“This is how it starts,” Johann said quietly. “Attention. Choice. Consequence.”
“And the end?” Margaux asked.
Gil stepped in close, crowding her space. “That depends on how much you like being chased.”
They didn’t take her that night.
They let her sleep in the guest room, door unlocked.
That was the real test.
Margaux lay awake, heart racing, every sound amplified. She thought about hands that hadn’t touched her yet.
About eyes that followed her even now.
At dawn, she rose, dressed, and walked to the door.
She stopped.
Turned around.
Knocked on Johann’s door instead.
Johann opened it instantly, as if she’d been waiting.
Margaux swallowed. “I don’t want to be watched anymore.”
Johann studied her. “What do you want?”
Margaux stepped closer. “To be seen.”
Johann smiled—slow, satisfied.
Behind her, the wolves stirred.
The chase was over.
The claiming—
just beginning.