Mafia Zaddy

“Don't act stupid, you knew this was coming," my now ex-boyfriend said plainly while looking down at me. My body was too shocked to respond to his cold words, so I continued to stare down at my lap trying to process what was happening. “I said I'd give it a few months, and I think we'd both agree it isn't working." He wasn't wrong. At first it was going really well, but for the past month we barely even spoke to each other. It started with different schedules, then varying interests, then finding any excuse to get out of the apartment, and so on. “But," I cleared my throat, trying to keep from sounding desperate, “you know offices close down for the holidays, how am I going to find a place on such short notice?" “Look," he said firmly, causing me to shrink into my seat on the couch without looking up at him, “I waited until you had a few paychecks under your belt. It's not like you've been paying for anything around here, you've got to have enough saved for your own place by now. You're not even on the lease here, I could just have you removed. But I'm trying to be nice." It didn't feel nice, but he did have a point. I felt like an i***t for trusting him enough to move across the country to live with him, but I knew it was a risk. He continued to speak, “If you need money for a bus ticket home-" “No. It's fine." I insisted, cutting him off. I reminded myself this wasn't the worst situation I'd been in, and tried to pull my thoughts together. “I'll be out of your hair by Christmas Eve." Two days later, I was shuffling down the wet sidewalk in no particular direction crunching numbers in my head. Starting over in the city had always been a calculated risk, especially without a support network for several thousand miles. Adaptability had gotten me this far, but when I was suddenly dumped by my live-in boyfriend it became apparent that I needed a better plan. The break wasn't a surprise, but the timing seemed intentionally spiteful. He wanted me out quickly so he could have his new girlfriend over for the holidays, which left me to comb the internet for available hotel rooms in my modest price range. With everything I owned tucked away in a storage unit, I hugged my coat closed and glanced down the unfamiliar intersection. I had no idea how long I had been walking or where this street led. I had only been in the city for a few months, most of which were spent either at the office or with my now ex boyfriend. The streets were nearly empty, and most of the businesses were closed for the holiday save for a few scattered bars. Down a dark alley I saw a neon sign that said Noodle House and veered in that direction. Maybe a hot meal would calm my nerves for long enough to come up with a plan. There was an open doorway and some narrow steps leading down to a red basement level door. I pushed the door open and popped my head inside. The place was tiny, only four empty tables and a large window that looked into the kitchen. It smelled divine, so I wandered in toward the window and ordered the house special with a bottle of soju. After I received my order, I sat in the corner of the empty dining area, removed my coat, and slung it over a chair to make myself more comfortable. I took an intoxicating inhale of the food in front of me, savoring the warmth it brought with it. The world seemed a little less cruel when in proximity to delicious noodles. I twisted the cap from the bottle of soju and subtly lifted it as if to toast myself. Since there was no one around, I skipped the pleasantries and drank straight from the bottle. After the stress of the past couple days, it felt appropriate. I tried to stay focused on the food in front of me to keep from panicking about where I was going to sleep. When I was halfway through, I dug out my phone to start searching hotel sites to see what was available. I was fully engrossed in my search when I heard the door swing open. I shifted my gaze toward the door to see a pair of dark figures. One stayed outside, and the other entered and locked the door behind them. They flicked the neon sign off, then slowly moved toward the window to the kitchen. Though they didn't look directly at me, the room was so small that I had to be in their field of vision. I tried to be as still as possible while they passed. They were slender and wore a well tailored suit, sleeves rolled halfway up their forearm revealing intricate tattoos and tight, black leather gloves. They had shiny black hair, shoulder length with half held back. They wore heavy boots that made my chair shake with each confident step. After an unknown amount of time, I averted my eyes back down toward my noodles to avoid looking like I was staring. I heard some commotion from the kitchen, but kept my eyes fixed on the food in front of me. I quietly slurped my noodles, thankful to the soju for keeping me calm and warm. Someone started yelling from the kitchen in another language. The person that walked past me replied through the window in the same language, their voice low and indifferent. I had no idea what they were talking about, but their words whispered authority. I shrank a little in my seat, hoping that if I made it obvious I was minding my own business they would just ignore me. I heard more crashing around in the kitchen followed by what sounded like a door slamming. After the commotion stopped, there was a low conversation in a different language. When the person on my side of the window switched to English, it snapped my focus back to the situation at hand even though they weren't speaking to me. “We'll clean up here, I'll text you when it's done." Their words made me freeze, worried that maybe I missed my window to run away even though that would have been risky with the person right outside. Feeling vulnerable and more than a little tipsy, I stared down at my noodles and waited for them to do what they were going to do. I heard heavy boots move in my direction and stop just in front of my table. Two dark gloves slid into my field of vision as they leaned down on the table to look me over. I swallowed a mouthful of noodles without looking up, suddenly worried that my face was probably a mess. One of the gloves turned over as though expecting something. I heard their voice quietly rumble, “Give me your hand." I squirmed in my chair a little, scared to look up from my food at the gorgeous person approaching me. I shakily put my hand in theirs, unable to take my eyes off their toned forearm. They wrapped my hand in a loose squeeze, and I could immediately tell their fingers were much longer than mine. I felt helpless to their touch, realizing it had been quite some time since anyone had even held my hand. I tilted my eyes up toward them, trying to get a better look at their face. Their jawline was sharp and demanding. Their eyes were cold and light blue in color, too intense to look directly into. Their lips were soft and full, fixed in a subtle smirk. I felt my cheeks flush and quickly averted my eyes back down to the table. They chuckled and guided my hand to pick up my cell phone and unlocked it with my fingerprint. They returned my hand back to the table and stood upright to peer down at my cell phone. I remained silent, still waiting to see what their intentions were. I couldn't tell if I was being hit on, robbed, or worse. They ran a gloved finger over the top of the empty soju bottle with a quiet chuckle, still staring down at my phone. “You didn't call the cops. Good girl."