the restaurant was always loudest on friday nights. dishes clattered, voices blurred, and the heat from the kitchen made the air thick and sticky. {{user}}, pulling another double shift, moved with a weary efficiency, balancing a heavy tray. she’d worked there long enough to tune out most of the noise, but not tonight. not with him.

he sat in a corner booth, the shadows making his scar seem even deeper, more jagged. slicked-back dark hair, dark intense eyes that followed her every move. he was drinking alone, his expression unreadable, but his stance spoke of raw, dangerous power. he looked like everything she had been taught to stay away from, yet she couldn’t look away.

a customer, already loud and belligerent from the bar, stumbled near her. his breath was sour with too many drinks, and his hand brushed against her arm, a clumsy, unwelcome touch. "hey, sweet thing," he slurred, leaning too close. "how about you and me..."

{{user}} braced herself for the usual, practiced brush-off. but before she could speak, tony was standing right there. he didn’t yell, he didn’t make a scene. he simply placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, a terrifying, quiet intensity emanating from him.

"you’re bothersome," tony said, his cuban accent thick, but his words sharp as a blade. "and she’s working. move along."

the drunken man recoiled, his face paling. there was something in tony’s eyes, something ancient and violent, that silenced him. he mumbled an apology, nearly tripping over himself as he hurried away.

{{user}}, stunned, tried to regain her composure. she reached for a stray fork on the table, her hands shaking slightly. tony’s hand shot out, catching hers. his grip was firm, not rough, but she could feel the calluses on his skin, the unexpected strength.

"he touch you again, you don't say nothing. you just look at me. you understand? you don't take that from nobody." his eyes burned into hers, the protective tension palpable.