The Reluctant Mafia Bride

Episode 5

Dahlia’s Pov

But as the seconds ticked by, my thoughts began to clear. I closed my eyes, trying to focus. I needed to remember everything in detail. I had to be coherent when I gave my statement to the police. They would need to know everything—every minute detail of what had happened.

And then, a memory came rushing back. I had seen the man with the scar in the office before. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. Just a week ago, I had walked into Mr. Scott’s office to deliver some documents. And there he was—sitting in the chair across from Mr. Scott. The same broad shoulders, the same shoulder-length black hair tied back in a neat low ponytail. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He hadn’t said anything to me, and I hadn’t been able to get a good look at his face—he had been sitting in the shadows, his features obscured. But something about the way he had held himself, the way Mr. Scott had been so visibly on edge around him, had stuck with me. Mr. Scott had looked... paranoid, almost terrified.

At the time, I hadn’t thought to ask questions. Mr. Scott was always a little off, always acting strange around certain people, but I’d written it off as just his usual, unpleasant behavior. Now, though, I realized there had been something much darker at play. Mr. Scott hadn’t just been scared—he had been in danger.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. The image of the man from the office flashed in my mind, and the sudden realization hit me again: this wasn’t random. This wasn’t some isolated incident. Mr. Scott had been targeted, and I had been there, right in the middle of it all.

I glanced up at the rearview mirror, meeting the driver’s eyes for a brief moment. "How much longer?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Not far," he replied, his tone neutral, but I could hear the faint buzz of concern in his voice. He must have sensed my unease.

I nodded, trying to force myself to relax. But as the cab sped through the streets, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, that there were eyes on me even now, hidden in the shadows. The thought made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I had seen too much, and now I had to make sure I did the right thing.

The cab slowed as we approached the police station, and I steeled myself for what was to come. There was no turning back now.

I paid the cab driver with trembling hands, the crumpled bills slipping from my fingers as I fumbled to hand him the exact amount. The change he returned seemed to slip through my grasp, the coins cold and unfamiliar. I barely noticed the exchange as I stepped out of the car, the door slamming shut behind me with a finality that made my heart lurch. The police station stood before me, towering and unwelcoming, its cold stone walls reflecting the turmoil brewing inside me. The weight of the building, its stark, indifferent exterior, felt like a mirror to the uncertainty that churned in my chest.

I could feel my legs shaking beneath me, each step towards the entrance an effort of will. My feet were unsteady, my heart racing in my throat. The heavy doors of the station loomed ahead, and with a deep breath, I pushed through them. The air inside was thick with the sharp scent of antiseptic and stale coffee, a smell that made my stomach turn. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead added a layer of discomfort to the already oppressive atmosphere. The walls, painted a dull shade of gray, felt too close, too confining. I was suddenly hyper-aware of the noise—voices in the distance, the shuffling of papers, the occasional ringing of a phone. It all blurred into a single, overwhelming noise that made my head spin.

I had no idea what I was walking into, no idea how to navigate this place. The thought of turning back flitted briefly in my mind, but I knew I couldn’t. The decision had already been made. I couldn’t go back.

I approached the first officer I saw, standing behind the counter, his expression bored and detached. He barely glanced up as I drew closer, but when I spoke, his curiosity was piqued. “I’m here to report a crime,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. Even to my own ears, it felt like my words rang out, too loud in the sterile silence of the station.

The officer’s eyes flicked over me—briefly, like he was sizing me up, probably wondering why someone like me looked so out of place, so unnerved. After a long moment of silence, he stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor, and gestured for me to follow. Wordlessly, I trailed behind him as he led me down a narrow hallway to a small room at the back of the station. The door clicked shut behind me with a hollow sound, and I took in the bare, sterile space. The walls were an unforgiving white, the furniture nothing more than utilitarian—metal chairs, a wooden table that looked too hard to sit at for long. But none of it mattered. My mind was still reeling from what I had witnessed, and the thought of explaining it to someone who might not believe me made my stomach twist. But I had to. I needed someone to understand. To help.

The officer took a seat across from me, the chair creaking under his weight, and reached for a glass of water on the table. He slid it toward me gently. “Take your time,” he said, his voice calm, but there was something in his eyes—something alert—that made me hesitate. “Tell me what happened.”

I reached for the glass without thinking, the coolness of it a sharp contrast to the heat that still burned under my skin. I took a long drink, the water settling in my throat, but it did little to calm the nervous energy buzzing through me. I set the glass back down with a quiet clink, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at the officer, the words stuck in my throat. This was it. The moment I had to speak, to make it real. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath.

Then, finally, I started. “I saw something. Something I shouldn’t have.”

The words spilled out of me in a rush, disjointed and frantic. I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to. I explained the scene, trying to force myself to remember every detail, every horrifying moment. “There were these men,” I said, my voice trembling as I gripped the edge of the chair, “all dressed in black suits, just standing there in Mr. Scott’s office. They had Mr Scott tied up in his chair and he was bruised and bloody as though he had been beaten. And then—” I swallowed, trying to steady my breathing. “One of them shot Mr. Scott. Right in front of me.”

I paused, my heart thundering in my chest as I tried to push through the memory. “I—I had gone to hand over a document to Mr Scott and i found the oor was barely open which was unusual., and I was trying to sneak a peek, you know? I didn’t think anything like this would happen. But I peered in and saw everything. Mr. Scott’s face. He was terrified. I—I could see it in his eyes. And the way they didn’t even hesitate. Just one shot, and he collapsed. Blood... it splattered everywhere.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the panic rising again as I spoke. “The men—they didn’t care. They didn’t even flinch. One of them, the leader, he just... wiped his hands off like he was done with it. Like it was nothing.”

I took a moment, my voice cracking once or twice as I continued. “I—I don’t know what happened next. I just ran. I couldn’t stay there. But I know what I saw. They were professionals, cold as ice, and they executed him like it was nothing. And the leader—he was different. His presence, it was... it was like he controlled the room. Everything stopped when he moved. It was like the others were just following orders.”

The officer sat still, his eyes never leaving me as I spoke. I could feel the weight of his silence pressing in, the tension building with each word. When I finished, there was a long pause. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, the kind that seemed to make everything feel too sterile, too distant.

Finally, the officer leaned forward, his expression unreadable. His fingers rested on the edge of the table, his gaze focused sharply on mine. “Can you describe the men for me? Any details, anything that stands out?”