“What the hell is wrong with you two?” I yell, shoving my brother in the chest.
“We’re doing your favorite wake up song!”
“When I was three!” I yell. “Three!”
“You’re never too old.”
“I didn’t get to sleep until four, and you pains in the asses are waking me up at five. I hope you have good reason.”
“Oh, no, we do. Someone spray painted your front door.”
I jerk upright, eyes wide. “What did you say?”
“Someone spray painted the front door of the café.”
I shake my head, unable to believe what they’re saying. Surely, they’re wrong. I leap out of bed, pull on the robe that Stefano landed on and has now rolled off of, and then charge out of my apartment and around the corner to my café where my mother and father are both scrubbing my door. Why the hell they’re doing this at five in the morning is beyond me but there they are.
“What!” I cry, putting my hands in my hair and reading the words painted onto my front door.
“Prissy bitch.”
Those fucking bikers.
This is their doing.
Without a doubt.
I can’t believe this is happening, I have to open in an hour.
“I can’t believe this!” I cry, throwing myself dramatically onto the bench outside my door. “This is a nightmare.”
“It’s coming off,” Mom tells me, scrubbing. “Why don’t you put some gloves on and help us? Many hands make light work.”
“I can’t deal with your life lessons right now, Mother, I’m in distress.”
I press my hands over my eyes.
“Luckily we were walking past this morning, or you’d be in some trouble when you opened up,” Dad says, scrubbing frantically over the word “Prissy.”
“Why were you both walking at five AM?”
“We enjoy a morning stroll,” Mom tells me. “We called your brothers to go and get you so we could make a start on cleaning this mess up. If we hurry, it’ll be gone by the time you open.”
Groaning, I gather some cleaning supplies and begin helping them scrub. The words are coming off, but it’s not an easy task.
“Any idea who did this?” Dom asks, helping too.
“I know exactly who did this, the pain in the ass bikers next door,” I mutter.
“Bikers?” Mom says, her eyes wide. “You mean like actual bikers?”
“Yes, actual bikers. I went over there early this morning because they were making so much noise and I cut their stereo cord. I guess they weren’t very happy with me.”
“Wait,” Dom stops, eyes wide. “You went into a biker party, cut their cord, and you’re still alive to tell the tale?”
“That’s dangerous, Evelina!” my mother scoffs. “You could have been killed.”
I snort and wave a hand. “I doubt it. They don’t scare me.”
“They’re criminals,” Daddy points out, wiggling his finger at me. “They’re dangerous. You shouldn’t be anywhere near them, Evelina.”
“Well, they shouldn’t be making so much noise.”
“Promise me you’ll stay away from them,” he goes on. “Do not engage with them any further. Call the police about this.”
“I’m not going to call the police, Daddy,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You don’t understand what you’re getting into, Evelina, this is dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous, they’re not going to hurt me, they’re just making a point.”
He gives me a look that tells me he’s more than displeased, but he doesn’t say any more. We just keep cleaning until the graffiti is gone and the café is good as new. Just in time for opening. I tell Mom to open up so I can have a shower and get ready. She does, and by the time I get in there, everything is running as normal. Thank god.
Nobody is any wiser to the fact that this morning my place was covered in graffiti. Those bikers might not know it yet, but they’re messing with the wrong girl. I worked my ass off for this place, not a single thing is going to take that away from me. Or a group of things.
“Ah, Eve,” Mom says, coming into the kitchen a few hours later where I’m busy rolling frosting for my incredibly good cupcakes I just spent a long time making. They’re a rich chocolate hazelnut, and seriously, they’re enough to make you moan like you’re being fucked by Thor himself.
“What is it, Mom? I’m running behind,” I ask, putting everything into it as the frosting rolls thinner and thinner. I don’t just ice my cupcakes, I decorate them.
“You have some visitors, and, well, they’re scaring off the customers.”
I stop rolling and look up. “Are they wearing leather? If they’re wearing leather I’m going to lose my shit and go out there and bust a cap in their asses.”
Mom nods. “They’re wearing leather.”
“Ugh.” I throw my rolling pin down. “I’ve had about enough of this.”
I storm out, covered in flour and chocolate, and see not one, not two, not three, but four of my tables filled with a sea of dickheads wearing leather jackets. Frustration bubbles in my chest, because the few other customers I do have are looking incredibly uneasy. Why would they want to be here with these loud, pains in the asses around? I wouldn’t.
During the day is my quiet time, where old people and families come in for breakfast and lunch. At night, when the music is on and the beer is flowing, the crowds are a little more forgiving. Now is certainly not the time for a bunch of bikers to be getting around. I walk straight over to the table where Riggs is leaning back in his chair, laughing with Adan about god knows what.
I clear my throat.
He turns around and looks up at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Good mornin’, Sparkler, how are you this morning?”
I lean in close. “Don’t come in here asking me how I am, you know exactly how I am. I know what you did to my shop, and let me tell you, I’m not going to take it. You can pack your bikers up and get out
