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It was six o'clock on a Friday morning and Café Torino was already bustling. Located within the heart of the busiest metropolitan city of South Korea, it is the favorite hangout place of the wealthy and the elite. Its notable structure easily stood out along the neighborhood of towering skyscrapers, high tech subway systems and modern complexes. The owner, being an ardent enthusiast of the Italian culture, had the interiors fashioned in Neo Classical design - gilded Venetian mirrors, bold Milanese armchairs and intricately patterned wallpapers. At first glance, the place looks more of a museum than that of a coffee house.
Frequented by many influential and famous people, often to start their day with a cup of authentic Italian coffee, or to idly sit on the outer terrazzo for breakfast, it has a prominent name to uphold. The smell wafting inside is a mixture of strong, bitter aroma from freshly ground beans and the sweetest whiff of newly made pastries. Well dressed men and women chattering happily over drinks and food and servers in their pinstriped uniforms accomodating guests with cordial reception - just another average morning.
Like clockwork, a black Porsche Carrera stopped with a screech in the cobblestoned car park. A vintage car fitting the equally old fashioned atmosphere of the venue. It belonged to one of their regulars, or at least driven by him, a plump man in his mid forties with receding hairline, would arrive at exactly 6:15 am on the weekdays without fail. A creature of habit perhaps, even his daily orders of Marocchino and Caffé Corretto never change.
Today, however, was an exemption. The bystanding staff was bewildered at the sight of a well-polished man coming out from the driver's seat instead of the portly one they were familiar of. He traced his steps inside and seated himself on the plush divan by the window, not the least bit bothered by the inquisitive eyes following his every move. The weak sunlight filtering through accentuated his refined features: dark, tousled hair, straight nose, well defined jaw and a pair of piercing brown eyes. Dressed from head to toe in black, bearing an austere expression and pompous grace, one can tell that he is not someone to be crossed with.
Everything aroung him seemed foreign, a new territory. Although he has seen the place countless of times from the view of his car, not even once has he stepped foot inside. Now, he found himself in the most trivial situation imaginable, something usually done by his assistant. "Espresso Coretto alla Grappa," he said curtly to the brown haired female cameriere without looking up from his phone. "Two servings."
The waitress eyed him curiously before acknowledging his order and disappeared behind the dark stained oak counter. A very unlikely choice of beverage just after the break of dawn: a shot of potent caffeine laced with alcohol, booze coffee - some would call it. It has been his morningcap for the past ten years, a perfect balance of stimulant and depressant, something to keep him paced throughout the day.
