Page 8 of The Oyabun's Boy

"Well, try to keep our inventory intact. Those cups aren't free, you know."

I nodded and returned to work, but throughout the morning, my paranoia grew. Every time I glanced outside, there was a man in a dark suit. Sometimes by the car, sometimes at the corner, sometimes just passing by—but always watching, always present.

Different men, same suits, same purpose.

By noon, I'd called three customers by the wrong name, put cinnamon in a plain latte, and nearly stepped on Duchess's tail twice. My laugh sounded hollow even to my own ears as I joked with regulars.

"Are you coming down with something?" Mrs. Abernathy asked as I refilled her tea for the third time, despite her cup being nearly full already. "You seem distracted."

"Just didn't sleep well," I lied, my eyes darting to the window again.

Another suit. Another watcher.

"You know what they say about counting sheep," she continued, oblivious to my rising panic. "Though I prefer to imagine cats. More soothing."

I managed a tight smile. "Great idea. I'll try that tonight."

If I lived that long.

God, I was being dramatic. But the memory of those men in the alley, speaking Japanese, and the text I'd gotten afterward from a blocked number with just an address and tomorrow's date—it was too much to be coincidence.

The afternoon lull finally arrived around two. The café emptied except for a college student napping in the corner, three textbooks spread open on her table and our black cat Ninja curled contentedly in her lap.

My mother was in the back, doing inventory or whatever she did when she disappeared for stretches of time.

I fidgeted with the coffee grinder, wiping it down for the third time, when I saw yet another suit across the street.

That's it.

I marched to the back office where Annie sat at the computer, glasses perched on her nose, hair twisted up in a messy bun.

"Mom, I think someone's watching the café," I blurted.

She glanced up, her expression shifting from mild surprise to amusement. "You've been reading too many of those spy novels."

"I'm serious. There have been men in suits outside all day. Different men, same suits. Watching us."

She laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "Honey, this is New York. Half the population wears suits and looks vaguely menacing."

"It's not like that." I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. "It's... it's like they're taking shifts or something."

My mother's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe they're from the health department. Or tax people. Though our paperwork is immaculate, so they can look all they want."

She was humoring me, but I caught the subtle way she shifted in her chair, angling the screen so I couldn't see it, the casual way she reached for her phone.

"Yeah, maybe," I conceded, not believing it for a second. I turned to leave but paused at the door. "If they come in, I'm hiding in the supply closet."

"Drama queen," she called after me, but I didn't miss how she immediately clicked to a different screen—one that showed our security camera feeds.

So she wasn't completely dismissing my concerns. Great. That made this even more terrifying.

I returned to the front, feeling the weight of unseen eyes on me as I wiped down counters and refilled sugar containers. The memory of his voice echoed in my head."The man who just became the most dangerous thing in your life."

Looking at the suited figures outside, I was starting to believe him.

I was dog tired by the time I flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed" with a flick of my wrist, then leaned my forehead against the cool glass door. The stress of the day—of the entire week since that kiss—had twisted my shoulders into knots that even Mochi's therapeutic purring couldn't unravel.

Outside, darkness had begun its creeping advance, shadows stretching across the sidewalk like fingers reaching for the café. No sign of the suited men anymore, but that didn't mean they were gone.