MAFIA MELTDOWN

Chaos reigned in the dimly lit club. Waiters scrambled to keep up, balancing trays and expectations as they hoped to earn generous tips. On the other end, strippers battled silently for dominance—each one trying to outshine the other in hopes of catching the eye of Jackson Rodriguez, the enigmatic billionaire seated at the back with his right-hand man, Blake, and a few close business associates. “Hey boys,” purred a nearly-naked Latina, her voice laced with false confidence as she sashayed toward them. She locked eyes with Jackson, trying to be as bold and seductive as possible. He didn’t even blink. Her confidence crumbled instantly, and a deep flush of humiliation crept up her cheeks. Seeing this, Blake leaned in with a charming grin to ease the tension. “Hey, beautiful. How can we help you?” The stripper’s smile returned, sensing a window of opportunity. “I was wondering if any of you would like a lap dance?” Her eyes never left Jackson. But Jackson barely registered her presence. Women didn’t interest him—not anymore. Diagnosed with gynophobia, the very idea of intimacy triggered discomfort, even fear. It wasn’t always this way. As a child, he was sexually harassed and threatened by two caretakers—women his mother had trusted while she hunted for her next husband. Instead of offering comfort or protection, his mother sent him off to boarding school and remarried as if nothing had happened. Jackson never figured out what hurt more—the abuse or the betrayal. His eyes finally lifted from his phone, cold and sharp. “Get out before you lose your legs.” The stripper’s breath hitched. Her bravery evaporated as she stumbled backward, mumbling an apology before disappearing into the crowd. Blake, who understood his boss’s trauma better than anyone, chuckled—until Jackson’s icy glare shut him up. “Now,” Blake said, clearing his throat, “you mentioned a business proposal?” One of the three suited men at the table leaned forward, a disturbing grin stretching his face. “We need someone out of the picture.” Jackson didn’t flinch. He was, after all, the head of a powerful mafia syndicate. But this job sounded beneath him. Like sending a lion to do a rat’s work. “Why?” Blake asked, intrigued. “She’s a threat. A big one.” Without another word, they pulled out a file. A photo slipped out, landing face-up on the table. Jackson picked it up. His expression didn’t change—but something inside him did. The girl in the photo had curly brown hair and piercing black eyes. She was stunning. Mesmerizing. For the first time in sixteen years, Jackson felt something. Something... unfamiliar. He studied her face a little too long. “You’re sure she’s the one you want dead?” he asked calmly. They all nodded, eager. “Yes.” Jackson’s smirk returned. “Alright then. How much are you offering?” “One million dollars,” one of them said confidently. Laughter erupted from Jackson—sharp, unhinged. “So let me get this straight. You want me to do a thug’s job and you’re offering me peanuts?” His eyes darkened. “Kneel.” “What?” “You heard me. Kneel... unless you’d prefer to lose your lives instead of your pride.” They hesitated. Mistake. Jackson’s voice dropped lower, colder. “I won’t repeat myself.” The men dropped to their knees, trembling. “Blake,” Jackson said calmly, “tie them up and throw them in the cell. They’re not worth my time.” “Understood, sir.” Blake signaled to a few disguised associates nearby, who swiftly escorted the men away, their fear rendering them docile. But Jackson’s mind wasn’t on them anymore. It had been a week since that meeting and he still couldn’t get the girl out of his head. Her eyes haunted him. Her face teased him. She had awakened something dangerous in him. “I need to find her,” he thought aloud. “Sir.” Blake’s voice snapped him out of it. He blinked and looked up to find the boardroom staring at him. “Meeting adjourned,” he muttered, standing up and walking out without another word. “Blake,” he added, not turning around, “find that girl. I want a report within the hour. And book an appointment with Dr. Gregory. This afternoon.” --- At Dr. Gregory’s office... I walked in with my usual guarded smile and sat down across from the one person who knew the truth behind the name Jackson Rodriguez. Dr. Gregory had been my therapist and confidant since the day my mother disowned me. Maybe it was because her husband didn’t like me. Or maybe it was because I broke his nose. Who knows. “There’s something on my mind,” I admitted. “What is it?” Gregory asked, adjusting his glasses. “It’s a girl. I can’t stop thinking about her.” Gregory smiled—something I rarely saw. “That means you’re getting better, Jackson.” “You think so?” “Absolutely. It’s the first time you’ve admitted feeling something for a woman since... Kira.” “You promised never to mention her again.” “Sorry, it slipped.” “It’s fine,” I said after a pause. “What should I do?” “Find her. Get to know her. If your phobia isn’t triggered by her presence, there’s a chance your healing has already begun.” I didn’t reply immediately. But in my mind, I knew exactly what I had to do. I had to find her. And this time... it wasn’t for a kill