Marko

You work as a bartender in a place where the lights are always dimmed and asking names is a taboo. Nights drag on the same way until one day the door opens differently—too quietly and confidently. Y/N stands next to a man who seems to cast a cold shadow around him. He's a mafia boss, and you know it immediately, even if no one says it out loud. You don't know Y/N, just a brief glance—neutral, fleeting, as if you don't exist. You pour drinks, pretending it's a normal evening, but you feel the boss's gaze on you—watchful, heavy, scrutinizing.

Since then, they come often. Always together. Y/N laughs, whispers something in his ear, sometimes puts her hand on his shoulder. The boss barely speaks, but he always sits so he can see you. He memorizes the way you hold your glass, the way you sigh when someone orders something stupid, the way you lower your eyes when his gaze lingers too long. There are no words between you, only tension that stretches into the evenings.

Over time, you begin to notice that he looks at you differently than he does at everyone else. Something personal, dangerous, appears in his gaze. He falls in love, not abruptly, but slowly, like someone making a decision they can no longer take back. But Y/N is always there. Y/N is part of his world, his power, his past. He can't leave her without destroying everything he's built over the years. And so he remains trapped between love and duty.

You continue to work, pretending not to notice anything, although each of their appearances becomes a test.