Trapped With A Mafia Boss

Chapter 1. Tori. I sat in the front row of the church, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. It still didn’t feel real. Just two weeks ago, Bertha had been in the kitchen humming a song as she stirred soup, wearing her favorite apron and fussing at me for using too much salt. Now she is gone. The air in the church was heavy, filled with soft murmurs and the faint scent of roses. People sat in their seats, their heads bowed, dressed in black. A soft piano played somewhere near the altar. It all felt like a dream I hadn’t yet woken from. The officiant’s voice echoed gently through the room, calling for the reading of the eulogy. My name was called. "Victoria Rivera." I stood, my knees a little unsteady. My heart pounded like it was trying to warn me to stop, to turn back but I didn’t. I owed her this. I stepped up to the podium, cleared my throat, and stared out at the unfamiliar faces. Bertha had always known so many people, people from the church, the neighborhood, charities, even strangers she helped on the street. She could walk into a room full of strangers and walk out with a dozen friends. Even now, in her death, she brought people together. “Bertha may not have been my birth mother,” I began, my voice shaking slightly, “but she was the only mother I ever knew. She chose me. She raised me. And she loved me like I was hers.” I paused, taking a shaky breath. My throat was tight and I could feel the tears building behind my eyes. “She was strong,” I continued. “She was kind. She had a heart big enough for everyone. She always said love wasn’t about blood but about who shows up. And she showed up. For me. For Alyssa. Every single day.” I glanced at the empty seat in the front row, the one reserved for my sister. Alyssa should have been here. But she wasn’t. I hadn’t seen her in six months, not since the night she left. She’d stopped answering my calls a long time ago. I tried not to take it personally. I tried not to blame her. But today, it hurt more than usual. “She gave me a home,” I said, turning back to the crowd. “She gave Alyssa and me a chance at life when we had no one else. I’m going to miss her laugh, her cooking, her stories, even the way she’d nag me about cleaning up after myself.” The crowd's laughter echoed in the room. “I won’t cry,” I added, wiping the corner of my eye. “Because Bertha didn’t like it when I cried. She always told me to be strong, no matter what. So I’ll try to be.” My voice trembled as I closed the page I’d written my thoughts on. “Thank you, Bertha… for being a mother. For loving me. And for loving Alyssa, even if she’s not here today. You’ll always be in our hearts.” I stepped down, tears slipping freely as I made my way back to my seat. When the service was finally over, people came up to me, faces I didn’t recognize but they all said the same things. “She was a wonderful woman.” “She saved my life once.” “You look just like she described you.” I smiled politely, nodded, and thanked them. But my heart wasn’t in it. I just wanted to go home. **** Back at the house, it felt empty and lonely. I dropped my bag by the couch and wandered into the kitchen without thinking. I looked at the counter where Bertha used to stand. I almost expected her to appear around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel, ready to offer me tea and ask how the funeral went. But no one came. To keep myself from breaking down, I started to clean. Wiping counters. Rearranging chairs. Folding blankets. Anything to stay busy. To keep my hands moving, even if my mind wouldn’t stop spinning. As I dusted the living room shelves, my hand landed on an old photo frame. I picked it up and stared at the image. Bertha, smiling wide with her arms around me and Alyssa. We were both so small in the photo. Alyssa’s wild curls and bright eyes. My shy smile. I sat on the couch, pressing the frame to my chest, wishing I could go back to that moment. I had tried calling Alyssa again. No answer. Where are you, Alyssa? And why won't you come back? All these questions I wished I could ask her. I was still on the couch, holding the photo frame to my chest when my phone buzzed. I wiped my eyes and picked it up, expecting another message of sympathy from someone at the funeral. But it wasn’t. It was from an unknown number. There was no text, just a picture. My heart stopped. It was Alyssa. Tied to a chair. Her arms were bound tightly behind her and silver tape was wrapped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her hair was a mess, and there was a bruise forming on her cheek. I dropped the photo frame as I stared at the screen, my hands trembling. Then another message came in. “If you want to see her alive, come here alone.” An address followed, just numbers and a street I didn’t recognize. There was no thinking after that. I shot up from the couch, grabbed my keys, and ran to the car. My heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. I didn’t stop to change clothes and didn’t stop to tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t even consider calling the police, not after I read the last part of the message. “No cops. Or she dies.” The drive was a blur. Thirty minutes of passing through unfamiliar streets. The address led to the sketchy part of town. I knew this part of town, only because Bertha always told me to stay far away from it. The buildings were old and crumbling, the streetlights barely working. Trash littered the sidewalks and most stores had their windows boarded up. When I reached the address, I stopped the car at the far end of the block and turned off the engine. My hands were still shaking. It was a warehouse, big, rusted and quiet. Too quiet. I got out of the car and crouched low as I moved closer. I stayed in the shadows, my steps silent. I crept up to a broken window and peeked inside. There were men, at least five of them. Dressed in black from head to toe, armed with rifles and pistols. One of them was laughing. Another was sharpening a knife on a piece of cloth. And in the center of the room, under a flickering light, was Alyssa. My stomach turned. I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking as I unlocked it. I didn’t care what the message said, I couldn’t do this alone. I had to call for help. But just as I tapped the screen, a deep, cold voice came from behind me. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I froze.